


The Great Washout

by ChickInRed, Ikara



Series: Unraveled Side Stories [3]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012)
Genre: Babies in danger, Comfort/Angst, Continuation of Unraveled, Fear, Multi, OT4, Protective Parents, Turtle Tots (TMNT)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:56:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24617947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChickInRed/pseuds/ChickInRed, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ikara/pseuds/Ikara
Summary: After the events in Unraveled, the turtles knew raising their hatchlings wasn't going to be easy, but they forgot about one important thing. Their enemies.
Series: Unraveled Side Stories [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/616165
Comments: 58
Kudos: 59





	1. Ch. 1

**Author's Note:**

> These events are directly after the story Unraveled.  
> If you've never heard of Unraveled you can find the story here- https://archiveofourown.org/works/5924961/chapters/13626846

Having a child is a beautiful thing. It’s a moment of awe and wonder as a new life emerges into the world, created from the bond of two people.

In that precious moment where the parents hold the smallest body in the world for the first time, it's no exaggeration to say that they are filled with love and new hope for the future. Many become so distracted by these joyous feelings, that they fail to realize the true extent of exactly what they’ve gotten themselves into; for four mutant ninja turtles, this included hours upon hours of little to no sleep.

“Chirp-chirp-chiiiiiiirp! Chirp-click-click-chiiiirp!”

Donatello rose from his bed like a zombie from a grave, his eyes puffy, bloodshot, and barely open. The fog of his semi-conscious brain and the unsteady weight of his weary body willed him back to the comfort of his bed, but instinct kept him drawn to the sounds of his little ones.

A groan sounded from somewhere in the dark and another form rose next to him from the mattress. “How long?” An exhausted voice asked, and Donatello looked over at the clock beside their bed, squinting as he forced his half-awake mind to recognize something coherent. 

“Same as last time...” Donnie murmured, “…Every three hours...” 

At least they were consistent. 

He shuffled over to the crib they kept beside the bed and leaned over it, finding the world’s two most perfect little bundles right where he’d left them. 

Sort of.

Paolo, a medium green skinned hatchling with a light-grayish brown shell was swaddled in a yellow blanket, his little face and dark eyes the only part of him visible. He was chirping and clicking a sweet trill that begged for someone to come and pick him up and hold him.

Then there was Catarina. Poor, sweet, little Catarina. The same bright emerald eyes as her daddy and just as feisty; no matter how many times Donatello swaddled her up in her little pink blanket she’d fight her way free and end up smushed in the corner of the crib, confused and frustrated as to why she was suddenly cold.

Both of them were hardly the length of Donatello’s hand, yet they each somehow had the appetite of human infants over twice their size. 

“Here’s bottle…” That tired voice mumbled, and Donnie turned, finding Mikey sitting up from the bed, still half asleep with his eyes closed and head lolled to one side, an empty orange soda bottle held out in his hand.

“Try again.” Donnie sighed and reached down to gently scoop his little ones from the crib.

“Huh?” He heard Mikey murmur, “Oh…”

Once they had the proper bottles, Donatello passed Paolo to his brother and cradled his fussy daughter in the crook of his arm. He smiled as her little face scrunched in dissatisfaction then let out a cranky chirp, her tiny three-fingered hands balling into little fists that she clutched to her chest. She tucked her legs into her plastron and curled her tail, blindly searching for her food until Donatello was able to lower the warm bottle and press the small nipple to her mouth.

She latched onto it like Mikey on a pizza and greedily guzzled the plant-based milk concoction, drawing a soft coo from Donatello’s throat that only seemed to encourage the tiny turtle. 

Mikey pressed in against him, his head resting on his shoulder. “Do that again.” 

“Why?” Asked Donatello, though he did it anyway, the soft coos trilling from his throat on reflex at the sight of his little one nursing. 

“I like it.” Mikey yawned, “I dunno why. It’s like meditation but no meditating.”

Donatello hummed and looked over at his youngest lover and found their son cradled close, suckling at his meal from the safety of his Papa’s arms.

It didn’t take long for the little ones to have their fill and grow drowsy. When it was clear they were ready to go back to sleep, Donatello and Mikey burped and carefully re-swaddled them before lowering them back into the crib. As always, little Catarina took the longest to settle, but eventually she closed her eyes and drifted back to sleep.

Mikey groaned and gracelessly plopped back down, asleep in seconds while Donnie carefully slipped back under the sheets and rolled over. His eyes closed, welcoming what little rest he’d be allowed…

All those years of staying out topside till near dawn with the grand delusion of making up for lost time with a quick nap after morning training, the late nights tinkering in the lab, every all-nighter spent unraveling the mysteries of mutagen because the momentum of scientific progress could not be slowed by the inconvenience of circadian rhythms- he’d been such an idiot! 

If Donatello could travel back in time, he would smack his younger self upside the head and tell him to cherish every scant second of sleep he could get because coffee, as glorious an elixir it may be, could only do so much.

But now was not the time for past regrets; now was the time for his MT1 and MT2 receptors to succumb to the melatonin his anterior hypothalamus was so generous to supply, and finally, FINALLY allow himself to experience the sweet bliss of R.E.M-

_DUH DA DUH DA DUH DA-DA-DAA, DUH DA DUH DA DUH DA-DA-DAA, DUH DA DUH DA DUH DA-DA-DAA, DADDA DADDA DA-DA, DADDA DA!_

Donni’s eyes snapped open as the blaring ring tone filled the room, the obnoxious sound drawing startled cries from the no longer sleeping infants. _‘Son of a-!’_

“I’m sooo gonna kill whoever that is.” Mikey moaned.

In full agreement, Donatello rolled over and grabbed his T-phone. “Someone had better be dead or dying!” He hissed into the speaker as Mikey dutifully dragged himself out of bed, only to flop down to the floor and crawl like a comically sized inchworm over to the crib in order to try and calm their crying hatchlings. 

What answered was a flurry of panicked words. “Donnie I’m so sorry, but Raph and Leo’s phones are off and I knew yours is always on no matter what-”

“Get to the point.” He grumbled.

“Tigerclaw’s going to blow up the Otsuki Chemical Plant!”

He paused, his sleep-deprived brain doing it’s best to piece together what April had just told him. 

“And?” He asked.

“And what?!” April snapped, “Donnie, Casey and I have been watching the Foot load it up with explosives; there’s enough chemicals and firepower in that building to level half of Midtown! We need to stop them!”

An eye twitched, and once again it took him a moment to process what he’d just been told. 

“How soon do we need to stop them exactly? Now? Tomorrow-?”

“NOW!” April’s voice bellowed, and Donatello all but whimpered.

No sleep for him tonight, or ever again apparently. 

“Ok, ok, I’ll wake the others and call you back.”

“Wait, WAIT DONNIE-!” April yelped but her voice was cut off as Donatello hung up and groaned at his misfortune. 

“Is it bad?” He heard his younger brother mumble, and when Donatello turned to glance at him, he found the freckled turtle curled up inside the crib with both Caterina and Paolo piled on top of one another as they nestled into the crook of Michelangelo’s neck.

If he hadn’t been as exhausted as he was, Donatello would’ve scolded him and panicked about the possibility of the crib collapsing under that much weight. But they were quiet, and he was tired, so very, very, tired… 

“Tiger Claw is going to blow up a Chemical Plant.”

Mikey yawned and closed his eyes, clearly unimpressed. “And we hafta’ get up for that because…?”

“Because it’ll destroy at least a mile’s worth of inhabited buildings… And because April said so.” Donnie fought the urge to yawn as well and lost, “You stay here, I’m going to go wake up Raph and Leo.”

Mikey grunted in agreement but didn’t move as Donnie left the room to fetch their brothers.

Now semi-awake and cursing under his breath about the inconsideration of super-villains who can’t take over the world at a more reasonable hour; the olive turtle trudged the distance across the hall to Raphael’s room where he and Leonardo had crashed and fallen asleep that night faster than Paolo after a warm bottle of formula. 

“Guys,” He called out half-heartedly and pushed the door open, “April needs help…”

Neither brother moved. Raphael was snoring away on his back with a lump beneath the sheets burrowed into his side that was no doubt Leonardo trying to escape Raph’s snoring.

“Leo, Raph.” Donnie called again, and this time he flicked on the light, instantly regretting it as his own eyes stung at the sudden brightness. “Tiger Claw is going to blow up a building. April and Casey need our help.”

This time Raphael stirred, but the lump under the blankets didn’t move.

“Tell ’em to hold off and come back later." he grunted, "We’ll fight ’em in a week. How’s that sound?”

Donatello sighed in sympathy for his brother, “I got the impression this required a little more immediate attention.”

A long low groan sounded from the bed, but it wasn’t Raphael who’d let it free.

“Fiiiiiiine.” Leonardo moaned, and the lump shifted.

A heavy-eyed turtle pushed his head up from beneath the pillows and blinked blearily in Donnie’s direction. 

“I’ll call April. Go ahead and go back to bed Donnie, you and Mikey sit this one out.” He turned to Raphael, the turtle whose eyes were still stubbornly closed tight. “Come on Raph, you gotta get up.”

“Come on man, just five more minutes...” Raph managed to mumble.

Leo was having none of it, the recent lack of sleep making him far more testy than usual, and used one of the pillows to promptly smack Raphael in the face to emphasize just how little patience he had left. 

“Get. Up.” Leonardo growled.

All Donatello could muster the strength to do was snort in amusement as Raphael returned the growl with one of his own. 

“Be safe, guys.”

He heard Raph let out what sounded like “Piss off, Leo,” before the door shut and he made his way back to his room.

The soft scents of his little ones greeted him as he pushed his door open and stepped inside. Mikey was still curled up inside the crib, one arm protectively wrapped around both hatchlings, while the other was beneath his head being used as a pillow.

He looked completely out, and so did Catarina and Paolo. 

_‘I’ll scold him next feeding.’_ Thought Donnie as he settled back down onto his mattress and pulled his sheets protectively over his shell. It wasn’t worth getting mad right now. Telling off Mikey would risk waking Paolo and Catarina, and as far as Donatello was concerned, waking sleeping babies should be a first-degree felony. 

His head hit the cool pillow and his eyes closed, the siren’s call of sleep luring him into a long-awaited slumber.

There were no dreams in this sleep, just a deep satisfying darkness that he gladly clung to, until a sound niggled its way in and tugged at the corner of his consciousness.

He ignored it at first, content to feign ignorance in order to hold onto sleep just a little longer, but the sound came again, louder and more persistent, forcefully trying to drag him back to the cruel waking world.

The noise repeated itself again and his eyes begrudgingly cracked open, finding a confusing haze of darkened color and sound that he didn’t quite understand....

“Donatello! Michelangelo!”

Oh. Someone was calling for them. It was muffled and from a distance, but it was definitely their names.

_‘What happened to letting us sit this one out?’_

Donnie yawned and pulled himself up into a mostly upright position, listening to figure out just who was yelling and why. He reached for his T-phone to check the time, dragged it across the desk and up to him, checking the time on the screen to find that it had barely been two hours since April had called.

Seriously, if there wasn’t some sort of Doomsday Device in the middle of a countdown that they need him to disarm, he was going to build one himself. Who the shell was yelling at him this early in the morning?! It was barely 3 AM!

“Donatello! Wake up, my son!” The shout came again, and this time he able to make out his father’s voice; the fear and panic in his Sensei’s tone were enough to bring him fully awake.

Ripping off the covers he dove out of bed, only to freeze as he landed in ankle-deep water.

“What the-?” He yelped, and his heart leaped into his throat. 

The lair was flooding.

“Mikey! Wake up, grab the kids!” 

Michelangelo snorted and lifted his head from the crib. “Whadda-wha?” 

“The lair, it’s, it’s flooding! We need to evacuate!” Donnie explained hurriedly. He grabbed a dry duffle bag and began to pack whatever he could grab, blankets, diapers, his phone-

“Metalhead!” He yelled, “What’s happening??” 

But all that answered him was silence, and then another call from his father.

“Metalhead!” Donnie shouted a bit louder, but still, his self-aware robotic buddy did not respond.

The little ones began to chirp, a wary call and specific trill that Donatello recognized as fear.

“Dude, what the shell!?” Mikey snapped at him, “You’re scaring the-”

Donatello whipped around and grabbed a bottle off the nightstand, then held his youngest lover’s gaze. “Mikey, the lair is filling with water.”

That got his attention.

The orange banded turtle whipped upright with Cat and Paolo in his arms, searching the room and instantly on full alert once he realized what Donnie was telling him was true.

“Michelangelo!” Their father bellowed again, still muffled but closer than before. “Donatello!”

Once everything was packed Donnie handed the bag to Mikey then scooped the chirping, trilling hatchings into his arms. He pulled them to his neck and cooed a soft sound, letting them know he was there and felt them burrow their noses into his skin seeking comfort.

The water, which had once been at Donatello’s ankles, was now steadily creeping up each calf and he knew they had no time.

“Metalhead!” He tried one last time as Mikey waded through the water to the door. Sure enough, silence answered them just like before.

His chest tightened with panic. “This doesn’t make any sense.” He thought out loud, “Metalhead and I improved the drainage system together, it should’ve detected any extra water and diverted it to over-flow tunnels before it ever got anywhere near this high-”

“Dude, the door’s stuck!”

Mikey’s strained grunt pulled him from his thoughts back to the issue at hand, and he found Michelangelo at the door, struggling to push it open.

“My sons!” Master Splinter called out again, and this time Mikey called back. 

“Sensei! The door’s stuck!”

“Move.” Was all the warning their father gave, and Mikey quickly backed off. 

A loud ‘CRACK’ sounded throughout the room as the wooden door splintered and gave way, causing the tiny turtles against Donnie’s neck to flinch.

“Easy now.” Donnie whispered, snuggling into them and cooing in comfort as the door was wrenched from its hinges, “It’s just Jii-chan having a…talk with the door.”

Tiny squeaks answered, and he felt Paolo curl his little feet and tiny arms against himself as if he were dreaming of the safety of being back inside his egg, while Caterina chittered her displeasure at the noise and latched her little hands onto the edges of Donatello’s plastron.

“There, there.” Donnie hummed rocking slowly, while Mikey moved to help clear the pieces of fractured wood from the doorway.

“Come, quickly.” The old rat instructed, waving for them to follow. “Something is wrong, Metalhead is nowhere to be seen and the water is still rising.”

Their father was soaked up to his neck, and when they made it out into the main room of the lair it became clear why. The TV area was underwater, meaning Master Splinter had to swim just to reach them.

“Here.” Said Splinter, pulling two floating plastic coolers over to them. “I brought these from the kitchen when I rescued Ice-cream Kitty. This one will keep the children and their things safe and dry.”

Without question Mikey plopped the bag inside it then looked expectantly at Donatello.

But Donnie’s instincts screamed _‘do not let them go!’_ Thankfully, logic was a much more powerful beast and Donatello crossed the way and gently pulled the precious cargo from the safety of his neck.

Catarina fussed and squeaked, her nose turned up into the air in an attempt to sniff him out as her small hands reached to pull him back to her as she was gently laid atop the soft and dry fabric of the bag.

Paolo was next, his tiny tail and little limbs tucking fully inside of his shell as he trilled in protest, an alarm sound that had Donatello’s anxiety spiking as he set his son down beside his daughter.

“Come, follow me. Pickles is waiting just outside for us.” Said Master Splinter, and Donnie was grateful that his father didn’t try to touch or take the cooler as he turned to lead the way back through the rapidly flooding lair.

Michelangelo remained at Donatello’s side, peering into the cooler whenever Paolo let out a particularly desperate chirp, but he followed their father’s example and also refrained from touching the cooler, allowing Donnie to set the pace and trust in his instincts.

Setting that cooler down to float on the water was unquestionably the hardest thing Donatello ever did as he, Michelangelo, and Master Splinter treaded out across what used to be their living room, their toes barely touching the floor, and began to swim towards the turnstiles.

There were so many ‘what if’ scenarios that could’ve gone wrong just then as they swam across their home, and the hatchlings’ fussing and chirping for him to come back and hold them made the situation feel all that much worse.

He was plagued with visions of them drowning, of them catching pneumonia, of listening to their frightened squeaks as the water swept the cooler away from his grasp and down into the dark, never to be seen again…

His eye twitched as they crossed and he clutched the sides of the cooler even tighter as he bit into his own cheek, trying to force the intrusive thoughts away, but those horrid images refused to disappear.

_‘It’s never going to happen. I won’t let it happen.’_

Once they hit the other side where a wiggling, tongue-lolling prog was waiting, and managed to pull their way up the steps to where the water was only knee-high, Donatello couldn’t stand it any longer.

He reached down and tugged a dry blanket from the bag, wiped off his arms and plastron then threw it aside and scooped his infants up to his collar bone where they could scent his skin, and nuzzled down into them, calming them with his coos until they’d all but stopped those horrible, frantic, squeals.

“Dude.” He heard Mikey, and a three-fingered hand appeared on his shoulder. “We need to keep moving.”

He was right, and Donnie had meant to say ‘ok’ in reply, but all that came out was a warning growl that told the other turtle he needed to keep his distance. To Mikey’s credit, he didn’t flinch or pull away, instead he stayed where he was and kept his tone soft but unyielding.

“D, the water’s getting higher.”

The influence of Donatello’s baser instincts wasn’t nearly as strong as it had had been during those humiliating months where he’d been running amok as a wild feral turtle in the forest, but it was still present and very much active whenever Paolo and Catarina were concerned despite how hard Donatello fought to suppress it.

Whatever it was that Stock-jerk had given him, it seemed to have some lasting effects that made his more primal inclinations stronger. But thankfully his brothers had learned how to handle him and work with his outbursts instead of getting frustrated or taking offense.

Still, as a civilized turtle of logic and science, it was embarrassing as shell. 

“I- I’m sorry.” Said Donnie, giving himself a shake to clear his head. 

Mikey just smiled, “Don’t sweat it, now come on.”

“This way. Pickles, come.” Master Splinter directed with one arm wrapped around Ice-cream Kitty’s cooler while the other was out and ushering as he hurried Donatello towards the exit.

Donnie obeyed without any further hesitation and Mikey scooped up the baby bag and followed after him with Sensei taking up the rear. Pickles splashed through the water, happily bouncing and rolling every now and then to get his skin nice and wet. 

At first, Donatello had been resolute in his decision to use the retro-mutagen to revert the puppy-frog back into a normal pup; despite the orange-banded turtle’s constant pleas to re-consider and that Pickles was ‘awesome just the way he is,’ Donnie was convinced that such a playful pooch would be much easier to handle without that crazy prehensile tongue and the ability to stick to walls and bounce off the ceiling. 

To everyone’s surprise, including his own, it was actually Casey who inadvertently changed Donatello’s mind when he wondered aloud just how much worse ‘sewage-covered-dog’ smell is compared to regular ‘wet-dog’ smell.

As exhausting as it was trying reign in Pickles’ high-energy with the extraordinary physical abilities granted by his mutation, Donatello had to admit that prog skin was far easier to keep clean than dog fur; the thought of Michelangelo and Pickles returning from a long walk in the wet, puddle- laden tunnels, only for the golden retriever to run to the middle of the lair and shake himself dry, flinging droplets of sewer water and dander covered fur everywhere in what was supposed to be a sanitized and baby-safe area, was more than enough to convince Donnie that a prog was in fact, a superior pet.

Looking back on it, if Donatello had gone through with reversing Pickles’ mutation and returning him to his original, warm-blooded form, it would be difficult to evacuate him right now; any normal dog would be shivering from cold and anxiety in such water-logged conditions, and they certainly didn’t have time to worry about keeping a frightened animal dry and warm let alone try to comfort him. 

As a prog, Pickles was not only able to take care of himself in this type of emergency, he seemed to be enjoying it. Their amphibious puppy looked to be having the time of his life, oblivious to any sense of danger or urgency as they abandoned their home.

Donatello was glad he’d made the right decision back then. As fond as he was of the caecilian-canine, the only mammal he had the energy to worry about at the moment was a six-foot-tall rat in soaking wet robes.

The Japanese man turned mutant was turning out to be a doting grandfather towards Paolo and Catarina, and never hesitated to offer a helping hand or words of advice from his own years of experience, but what Donatello appreciated the most was how readily Master Splinter accepted boundaries.

Their father was, to Donatello’s daily relief, highly respectful when it came to the purple-banded turtle’s overprotective nature and the instinctual outbursts that he was still working to control. 

Sensei recognized when it was best not to touch and never tried to come too close into Donatello’s space. Instead he always remained a non-hostile, and reassuring presence, using calm but firm words in order to help coax him from one point to another when he needed to, just like now.

Sensei called it ‘soothing his aura’, which Donatello interpreted as a more dramatic term for ‘Parental Guidance.’

Whatever you wanted to call it; Donnie was just grateful he was there.

“The escape tunnels are up ahead.” Said Master Splinter, staying just behind them as they ran.

“I’m not getting any signal!” Mikey’s voice was filled with worry as he stared at the screen of his T-Phone, “Do you think Leo and Raph are still fighting Tigerclaw? How do we tell them we made it out safe??”

“We need to get out of the sewers and topside first.” Donnie pointed out, “Until we do, don’t count us as-”

A robotic screeching and whirring sound cut him off and the three of them froze, turning to look back towards their home to find a dozen pairs of glowing red eyes.

“-safe.” Donnie finished, the color from his face draining at the sight of a swarm of Foot-bots.

He glanced down at the fragile bundles held against his plastron, then back up at the lethal robots, only one thought encompassing his entire being; ‘Run.’ 

Without a word, he turned and sprinted down the tunnel, the mechanical screeches echoing violently off the walls of the tunnel behind him as the robots gave chase.

Michelangelo appeared beside him, his head turned and looking back.

“Master Splinter!” Mikey yelled, and Donatello dared to peek back over his shoulder.

The old rat was fighting, leaping and dodging as he lashed out at every Foot-bot that dared come close, striking with deadly precision, no movement was wasted as he stood his ground despite the unrelenting attacks of the black-clad automatons that seemed to be increasing in number. Pickles was beside him, bashing anything that came near with the plastic cooler, now wrapped up in his tongue, that Donnie suspected still held the mutant ice-cream cat.

“Go!” Their father ordered, “Do not stop!!”

Michelangelo seemed to slow for just a heartbeat, a pained look on his face as he watched their father and his pets struggle.

Donatello’s stride began to falter as well, when Mikey shook himself and picked up speed.

“Come on!” Mikey snapped, urging Donatello forward, “Sensei’s got this!”

Of course, Donnie knew perfectly well that Sensei was a Ninja Master, more than capable of holding his own against Foot-Bots; he had done so many times before. But it was more likely that Mikey was pointing this out for his own reassurance, so the taller turtle said nothing. 

Honestly, it should’ve killed him to leave their father and their family pets behind, but his fear for his children was far stronger than anything he’d ever felt before. He needed to get them away, far away from the current danger and find somewhere safe to hide them from their enemies. 

That was his highest priority, anything else was secondary.

Still, one detail kept nagging at his mind;

_‘Where the shell is Metalhead??’_

The android-turtle was far more advanced than any of the robotic Foot soldiers under Shredder’s control. Even if Stockholm had somehow managed to give them some kind of upgrade, those mindless automatons shouldn’t have been able to evade Metalhead’s sensors, no matter how adaptable they are... Unless Metalhead had somehow been compromised?

No, even if Metalhead and the Foot-Bots came from the same Kraang tech, Donnie was certain he had accounted for any vulnerabilities in his metal buddy’s systems that Stock-bug might try to hack into and exploit.

So then why hadn’t he alerted them about the flood or the Foot? 

Long-range signal jammers to create blind spots in security feed? High-frequency pulse scramblers to interfere with communication? Had they ambushed him with sheer numbers?

Donatello grit his teeth at that last possibility. It was true that the several miles worth of tunnels that surrounded the lair was quite a lot for one three-foot Metal turtle to secure on his own, even if he was equipped with rocket launchers and an I.Q. of 140 terabytes. 

Maybe his little buddy’s workload wouldn’t be so tremendous if it weren’t for the purple-banded turtle’s stubbornness; Metalhead had been able to maintain complete control over the hijacked army of Cat-Bots that Stock-fly had sent after them, and despite the unpleasant memories they triggered, Donatello couldn’t deny that the robotic felines were both stealthy and well-equipped to maneuver through the sewers with little to no detection.

But Donnie had let his paranoia get the best of him, and rather than using all those drones to reinforce their own security system, he had been adamant about Metalhead deactivating and dismantling each and every one. 

Their family had always been outnumbered, but maybe if he had been able to let go of his personal grudge towards anything designed by that damn fly, Metalhead would have had enough back-up to hold off the Foot and alert Donnie of the flooding before the water managed to reach the lair…

A low growl sounded beside him, shaking him from his thoughts, and Mikey spun, throwing what looked like a chunk of concrete over his shoulder behind them.

“Stupid Shred-head. I bet he’s the one who flooded everything!” Mikey snarled, “Take that, you stupid robots!” He chucked yet another hunk of something hard and solid behind them and the exertion seemed to bring him some level of satisfaction.

Michelangelo made an excellent point, even if he was unaware that he was making one;

There was no time to cry over spilt pizza-sauce. If anyone was to blame for their current predicament, it was Shredder, and Donatello would worry about figuring out how to pay back that lunatic after he got his babies to safety.

The tunnel they were running down forked into two paths, and the both of them stayed right, splashing through the water down what they knew would eventually lead them to maintenance handholds up to a manhole and the surface. But just as their goal was within sight, a rumble shook the walls and filled the tunnel with a sound like thunder.

Both Paolo and Caterina shivered and pressed into Donatello, clicking and trilling nervously.

“What was that?” Asked Mikey, when the answer was given to him by a rushing roar that the both of them were all too familiar with.

It all happened in a matter of seconds…

They had only just turned in time to see the massive wave surging towards them right before the force of the torrent knocked them off their feet, dragging them under the water and down the tunnels.

Donatello clutched his children to his chest, his nictating membranes covering his eyes in a protective white barrier against the murk and debris as the frigid water swept him away, caught in the eddy of the current.

 _‘Get to the wall, get to the WALL!’_ Eyes frantically searching in every direction, Donnie urged his legs to cooperate and kick perpendicular to the water’s flow towards where he thought the tunnel wall might be, but the more he fought to right himself, the more violently he spun and it was all he could do just to figure out which way was up.

At this rate it wouldn’t be long before he completely depleted what little energy he had left. 

_‘Air, need to get to air!’_

How long had he been holding his breath? He wondered. He was a fully-grown mutant turtle, but his lung capacity had its limits. When another thought came to mind...

How long would it take for his children to drown in his arms?

What if they already had?

 _‘No, please-! OW! What the-?!’_ The current slammed him into the wall with enough force to give him shell-lash, his carapace scraping against the brick so roughly he swore he could feel it all the way down to his toes.  
But that didn’t matter, he now had a base point with which to determine direction, and looking up he managed to make out a faint glimpse of light in the distinct.

 _‘A manhole, YES!!’_ Their salvation was approaching fast.

He stuck his leg out before it was too late and managed to hook his foot in one of the metal handholds bolted to the tunnel wall that would lead up to the shaft cover. Like a ragdoll he was flung into the wall, bending and twisting his ankle until a sickening crack reverberated in his ears and pain shot up from his leg.

Bubbles escaped as he fought not to cry out and lose what precious air he had left while raging waters mercilessly beat his battered form into the concrete.

In desperation to reach the metal rungs he fought through the pain and shifted his grip on the tiny turtles cradled against his plastron, freeing a hand to reach for the ladder. Though as he stretched and his fingers closed around the cold steel, he felt something far more chilling as one of the shells in his arms slipped.

 _‘No.’_ His pulse nearly stopped as he looked down to find Caterina, her little arms flailing, her shell slipping just a little bit more.

Donnie tightened his grip, trying hard to keep his baby girl pressed firmly against him-

Only to watch in horror as his daughter slipped from his grasp and was carried away down the tunnel.

“NO!” He shouted in a flurry of bubbles, the last of his oxygen reserves disappearing just as quickly as his child.

A blur of green shot past him, straight as an arrow and rocketing through the water in Catarina’s direction.

Michelangelo.

Placing all his faith into his younger lover, Donatello turned his attention back to his son and the problem at hand. They both needed air, now.

With only one usable arm and one good leg Donatello managed to claw his way up the metal rungs and to the manhole cover.

Leading with his shoulder, it only took one good adrenaline-fueled shove and the metal cover gave way as he emerged topside and took a long-awaited breath of sweet oxygen.

He gasped, coughed, and spluttered as he dragged himself up, the force of the water below still tugging at his legs and threatening to pull him away until he’d completely dragged his aching form up into the asphalt of a dark and dirty alley.

“Paolo.” He choked, looking down at the limp form in his arms, only to sigh in relief as his tiny son coughed up a mouthful of water and gargled out a piteous chirp.

“Oh, tha-ank y-you!” Donnie gasped between coughs. “Thank sh-shell…spirits…whatever is watching us right n-now! Th-thank you!!”

He cringed a little as his ankle throbbed, reminding him that he was very much still injured, but ignored it. There were far more pressing matters to attend to.

Carefully he crawled to what looked like a homeless person’s nest of cardboard, grease-covered rags and crumpled newspaper, coughing up the remaining dredges of nasty sewer water that lingered in his lungs, and collapsed in the middle of the disgusting heap.

Paolo was weakly chirping, shivering, and cold in his arms, and despite how much it turned his stomach to do so, Donnie plucked the cleanest looking rag from the ground and carefully wrapped it around his tiny child.

The little turtle squeaked and whimpered, crying out for him, pleading for comfort as he was bundled in the filthy cloth. Donatello tried, he truly did, weakly cooing and letting out those soft chirps that always soothed his young ones, but Paolo refused to settle. Not that Donnie could blame him.

“It’s ok.” He whispered to his son, “Papa Mikey will be back any minute, he’s just getting your sister...”

His chest tightened and his stomach threatened to rebel as he said the words out loud. 

“It-it’s ok...” Donnie whispered again, but this time his voice cracked, “E-everything is going to be… O-ok.”

As he said the words however, he froze, a familiar and cautionary feeling of predatory eyes upon him, creeping up his spine. 

Slowly he sat up and looked around, instinct screaming that someone was there. 

Something rustled from the other end of the alleyway, and he took a deep breath then growled, a deep threatening sound that was a clear warning for all to stay away. 

The unsettling feeling of eyes remained, and Donatello slowly placed Paolo in the middle of the paper trash nest, then rose, forcing himself to his feet despite his injuries. 

“Well?” The olive turtle hissed, the chirps of his child growing louder behind him as he limped a little bit away, “Now’s as good a time as ever. Come out.” 

He raised his hands and brandished his claws, eyes white with fury and ready to tear into anyone that dared come anywhere near his son.

A single yellow iris gleamed in the dark followed by a flicker of orange and black as none other than Tigerclaw himself stepped into view.

Unable to help it, Donatello puffed himself up and hissed, limping back just enough to block Paolo from the cat’s view.

“Come any closer and I’ll rip your other eye out!” Donnie snarled, but the tiger didn’t move.

Oddly, Tigerclaw just stood there, watching Donatello with a hard to read expression. He glanced at the manhole cover, still spitting water from the rip-tide below, then back to Donatello, and then-

A high pitch trill of desperation came from little Paolo, and Tigerclaw’s ears pricked.

The big cat man seemed to be deep in thought as he analyzed the situation, no doubt trying to determine the best angle to attack.

Donatello growled even deeper and shifted to block Paolo from view again, giving the bounty hunter no choice; he’d have to go through him first.

Finally, the Tiger’s ears flattened and Donatello tensed.

“I won’t fight a mother with her cub.” The larger mutant growled and he lifted a clawed finger, pointing it at the turtle in warning, “You have ten minutes. Do not be here when I come back. I will not be so generous a second time.”

Donnie blinked as Tigerclaw turned his back to him and lifted something from his belt.

“Did you just call me a-?!” Donatello began to snap, outraged, when Tigerclaw’s growl filled the alley.

“The north side is clear. No sign of the turtles. I will continue to scout the area and double back in ten minutes.”

He… He was letting them go? 

Why?? This had to be a trick- no, who cared if it was a trick or not?! This was his chance to get Palo as far away from here as possible and he was going to take it!

Keeping an eye on the tiger’s back, Donatello limped backwards until he was at the disgusting nest of garbage.

Poor Paolo was frantic, his chirps turning to high pitched trills and a humanistic wail that Donnie had never heard the baby turtle make before.

Breathing hard, Donnie bent down and scooped the bundle up, keeping Paolo safe and close while remaining focused on Tigerclaw.

Just in case it was a trap, Donatello was careful not to let the large mutant out of his sight, but with him blocking the only way out of the alley, and the tunnels still flooded, the only place left he could go was up.

With shaking hands, Donnie grabbed onto the closest fire escape and clawed his way up it, glaring at Tigerclaw out of the corner of his eye to be sure the big cat wasn’t following. 

He didn’t, in fact, Tigerclaw never moved. Just stayed stationary at the end of the alley like a silent sentry until Donatello dragged his way up to the roof’s edge.

It was only then that Tigerclaw moved. Slowly the big cat walked out into the street, paying the turtle no mind, and promptly disappeared.

Shaking with exhaustion, Donatello watched for a moment, making sure Tigerclaw had truly left as promised, before he dared look away.

His ankle gave a sharp throb and he cringed, hissing in pain. He tried to take a step only to feel his knee give out and he crashed against the tarmac.

Paolo was screaming in his arms, making his heart ache at the sound of the plaintive cries, but all he could do was lay there panting as the full weight of everything that had happened came in and crushed him.

Tears blurred his vision and burned hotly down his cheeks and he pulled his son in closer, burying his nose beside the shrieking turtle’s face just to find the familiar scents of his young.

Caterina, his baby girl was gone. He’d promised that he would always keep her safe and yet she had still slipped right through his arms… Mikey looked like he had been in quick pursuit but the water had been moving so fast and she was so tiny… What if he couldn’t get to her in time??

What if Mikey was unable to find his way to the surface before he ran out of air?!

Shell, he didn’t even know what happened to Master Splinter and Pickles; had they been able to escape the Foot-bots or had they also been caught in the massive wave?

Damn it all! If only Leonardo and Raphael weren’t off fighting-!

Wait…

Donatello stilled, the gears in his head slowing turning as all the numbers began to add up but failed to compute:

Leo and Raph had gone to help April and Casey stop Tigerclaw from blowing up the Chemical Plant.

The Otsuki Chemical Plant was located on 3rd Ave and 47th up in Midtown. 

But Tigerclaw had been waiting right here, near one of the closest manholes leading to the lair, all the way down in lower Manhattan.

 _‘No…’_  
The purple-banded turtle tried to sit up, but the last of his strength abandoned him and he was left shaking and panting against the tarmac. 

He was such an idiot!

The Chemical Plant, the explosives, that had been nothing more than a ruse. Tigerclaw had staged a show for their human friends so that they would call them out and leave the lair defenseless!  
It was so obvious!

April might’ve been one thing, but just what in his sleep-deprived mind ever made him believe a puck-head like Casey Jones would have enough stealth to successfully spy and get information on the Foot?!

 _‘Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!’_ Donatello smacked his head back against the roof in rhythmic succession.

This whole thing was just the Shredder’s insane attempt to lure them away and into a trap so he could flood the tunnels and flush Splinter out into the open without any interference.

The Foot-bots must’ve been sent in when they noticed only two turtles had shown up at the Chemical Plant. No doubt all of Shredder’s henchmen were being placed at every manhole cover to pick his family off as soon as they came topside for air…

…So why had Tigerclaw let him go?

_‘I won’t fight a mother with her cub…’_

Was it really that simple? Tigerclaw was the Shredder’s second in command; was Donatello really supposed to believe that the mutant bounty hunter was bound by some code of ethics that prevented him from attacking a mother protecting her child?

Donnie frowned and inwardly cursed at himself for the self-implied use of female pronouns, but the concept of one of his family’s most dangerous enemies possessing any degree of moral integrity was still intriguing. 

Unfortunately, the thrilling discovery of Tigerclaw’s sudden display of honor would have to wait another day for closer examination. Right now, he needed to figure out how to find the others, keep Paolo safe, and get out of the area before the Tiger mutant came back, and preferably before he himself passed out from exhaustion. 

With a shaking hand, Donatello reached out to the roof’s edge and grabbed hold of the brick, painfully dragging himself upright to assess his injuries. Every inch of him ached and remaining upright was proving to be a far greater challenge than it should be.

There was no question that his ankle was broken, if the sharp pain radiating up his leg wasn’t a dead giveaway the dark purple swelling certainly was; most likely a spiral fracture of his talus given how badly his body had been contorted at the time of breakage. If he had any luck at all, hopefully the surrounding ligament had only been strained rather than torn but he wasn’t feeling too optimistic about that.

Aside from concerns about whether he’d ever be able to walk normally again, the rest of his body seemed to only be sporting minor injuries; both of his arms were scraped up and he was pretty sure he could feel a shallow cut on his neck. He probably looked more black and blue than green right now but there were no signs of immediate danger.

“Paolo.” He whispered, turning his attention to the shrieking infant still bundled in his arms.

The tiny turtle had his eyes tightly shut with tears and snot streaking down his chubby green cheeks. His face was turned up towards Donatello, wailing out that horrible human sounding cry that tugged at Donatello’s heart.

A carefully as he could he unwrapped his son from the disgusting rag that he’d used to dry him off and gently pulled the tiny arms and legs then tail out and away from the baby’s body for examination. 

Paolo did nothing but scream the entire time.

One of the hatchling’s legs was badly bruised while his little right arm had a minor scrape. There was a welt on the side of his head, no doubt from being banged around in the tunnels, and his cry, though loud and insistent, had a touch of a wet sounding gargle to it from having inhaled water.

Nearly drowning in freezing, polluted, sewer water had been terrifying enough, but after all they’d been through now there was a real threat that Paolo might die from pulmonary edema.

Donatello let out a hoarse sigh and pulled the filthy rag back around the little turtle’s body and pulled him close, his shoulders trembling as he tried to regain some degree of composure.  
He needed to pull himself together; he couldn’t save his son if he let himself break down now. He couldn’t allow himself to fail Paolo like he’d failed Catarina…

“What else could go wrong?” He breathed, when a loud thud vibrated through the rooftop as something big and heavy landed behind him.

Donatello stiffened and turned, staring across rooftop to the other side where the sound had come from. Whatever it was it was hidden in shadow.

His eyes slid white, a cautionary growl rising in his throat. Who was it now? Did Tigerclaw change his mind and come back to finish him off? Was it Rahzar? Rocksteady? Maybe even the Shredder himself-?

A thick and musky scent that drifted past his nose and olive turtle recognized it immediately, any bit of rational thought he had been trying to cling to was thrown out the window in an instinct fueled adrenaline rush.

Teeth bared and on full alert, Donatello pulled Paolo closer and took a deep breath, letting out a deep animalistic sound that surprised even the tiny turtle who instantly fell silent as if he understood that his father wished for him to remain hidden.

“Come any closer-,” Donnie spoke in an octave so deep and dark he might as well have been addressing the Shredder, “-and I will rearrange your face.”

The shadows shifted in response to his threat and a giant stepped out.

Slash; Donnie’s least favorite stalker.

“Donatello, I-” The giant turtle started to take a step forward only for Donnie to step back, hackles raised.

“STAY BACK!” He snarled and felt Paolo flinch against his plastron, a nervous little chirp rising up from him that sounded so soft and pathetic compared to the shrieking he’d just been making.

Another shadow shifted and Donnie growled even louder as yet another unwelcome figure came into view.

“Rockwell says Tigerclaw is still in the area.” Rumbled the face-grabbing crocodilian, “Come Donatello, we need to leave this place.”

Donnie eyed Leatherhead and then Slash; the monster croc who liked to fling him about like a ragdoll and the towering would-be rapist- Like shell he was going anywhere with those two!

“I’ll take my chances.” He spat.

The big tortoise had the audacity to let out a long, suffering sigh as if he were the one distressed by all this, and despite Donatello’s clear warning not to do so, he slowly continued his approach towards the olive turtle.

“Donatello, I can’t even begin to apologize.” Slash lamented, and with every step he took Donnie’s growling grew louder. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, either. If I’d known it was you the whole time, I’d, I’d never…” He let his voice trail off, the heavy weight of his guilt making him hesitant to mention his vulgar past transgressions aloud.

Yeah, right! As if Donatello would actually fall for that! He wasn’t mutated yesterday! As far as he was concerned, Slash could take his pitiful little act and shove it up his cloaca!!

The closer Slash got, the stronger his scent became. Between that unfamiliar alpha smell and Donatello's threatening growls, Paolo decided he’d had enough.

With a frightened squeak Donnie felt the little one retract all the way into his shell and stay there.

“Slash, I’m warning you!” Donatello hissed, pressing closer to the roof’s ledge. Damnit, he was running out of real-estate. Shell, what he wouldn’t give for his Naginata right now… Or a shoulder-mounted missile launcher.

“But I just-” The massive turtle tried to explain, “-I, I wasn’t in my right mind when I attacked you that day. I can’t even forgive myself for it. You’re Raphael’s and I’d never try to steal his mate from him. Anyone’s mate, for that matter. Rockwell’s even made a serum ‘ta help suppress my instincts so I can learn to control them better.”

Puffing himself up to look bigger, Donatello sneered “Well isn’t that good for you? I wish you the best of luck- now back off!!”

“Slash.” Donnie heard Leatherhead rumble in warning, “We have to go. I can see Tigerclaw; he’s coming back this way!”

“Right.” Slash nodded and moved as if to reach out, only to pause. “Hey, where’s the second one? You had two, didn’t ‘ya?”

Donnie’s heart clenched and his bravado wavered. Self-consciously he peered back over the lip of the roof to the manhole cover below.

“Oh shit…” He heard Slash breathe. “Don’t you dare… Don’t you dare tell me one of your kids didn’t make it.”

Unable to look back, Donatello swallowed hard, an image of his daughter slipping from his grasp to be washed away by the icy waters filling his mind and heart with dread.

“I…I don’t know.” He finally managed to whisper. “I lost both her and Mikey in the current.”

Suddenly Slash’s scent was up his nose so strong that he had to be right there.

Donnie whipped around, brandishing his free hand with the intent of fulfilling his early threat of giving the tortoise a make-over to resemble a Picasso painting, when a strong pair of roughly scaled arms the size of trash cans hoisted him up off his feet.

“We’ll find ’em.” Slash promised in a confident tone that was probably meant to sound reassuring, but only made Donatello want to tear out the other mutant’s jugular.

“Put me down, you, you hulking, malodorous pervert!!” He screeched, “I’d rather face off against Tigerclaw, you vacuous lumbering brute! I’m not some damsel you can just- HEY! Are you even listening to me?!” Only for Slash's grip to become tighter.

“Quickly!” Came the raspy sound of Leatherhead’s rumble and Donnie felt his stomach lurch up to the back of his throat as the leader of the Mighty Mutanimals jumped from the rooftop with him and Paolo in tow.

“AAAAAAaaaaahhrg!” The world around him became a blur of rooftops and bouncing street lamps as he was carried off into the night to shell only knows where. If his stomach hadn’t already been empty, it would be now.

The logical part of Donatello’s mind, the one that knew he was physically in no condition to escape on his own, was still there, though at the moment it was being worn down by the urge to fight off the unworthy male that had dared lay hands on him, even if the most retaliation he could do in his current position was use his claws to dig deep and unsightly gouge marks in that ridiculously thick, spiked shell.

But Slash, for whatever reason, whether it be out of a genuine desire to atone for his past wrong-doings, or a self-appointed sense of duty to protect his friend’s lover and child, took the olive turtle’s fury without batting an eye and carried them against their will to safety.


	2. Ch. 2

Raphael’s snarl echoed over the sirens and honking of horns as his Sai stabbed through a Footbot’s face.

Two hours. 

That’s how long they’d been beating bots. 

TWO. FUCKING. HOURS.

With a mighty roar Raphael grabbed the Footbot’s head and ripped it from its mechanical shoulders, sparks flying and wires twitching and promptly hurled it across the roof.

“I COULD BE SLEEPING RIGHT NOW!” Raphael bellowed. “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT IT’S LIKE TO WAKE UP EVERY ONE TO THREE HOURS, FOUR WEEKS IN A ROW??!!”

He roared again, and as a Footbot dared climb over the side of the building he was on, he launched at it and grabbed it by its arm, slamming it over his shoulder onto the concrete where he impaled it with his Sai. Again. And again. And again.

“I JUST WANT TO SLEEP!!” Raph panted, his eyes wide and teeth gritted down at the smashed-up bits of metal that were once one of Shredder’s robots. “HOW HARD IS THAT TO UNDERSTAND?!”

As he knelt there panting, a flash of blue and green shot by, the sound of metal singing through the air as blades sliced into a Footbot that had somehow managed to sneak up behind him. 

It was Leonardo; he was just as tired and worn out as Raph was, but having to always be the perfect example of the ideal Ninja, his Katanas were still drawn and held steady in the offensive position, refusing to show any weakness.

Stubborn bastard.

“Raph, keep it together!” He snapped, and out of temper Raphael growled.

“YOU KEEP TOGETHER!!”

“Dude!” Another voice shouted, “Stop yelling, you’re literally so loud you’re like a beacon for where we are!”

Whipping around Raphael screamed even louder, “FUCK YOU, CASEY!! YOU GET TO SLEEP!! I DON’T SLEEP!!! EVER!!! THIS IS THE RESULT. DEAL WITH IT!!!”

The hockey-head was on the adjacent roof, smacking a baseball bat into two Footbots, sending them flying in a pile of sparks. April was beside him, her Tessen out and eyes peeled as she searched for more enemies. 

“Casey’s right, Raph.” She called to him, “I know you’re angry and I know you’re tired but yelling is only going to draw them to us.”

Raphael promptly glowered at her. “Don’t think you’re off my shit list either, April!” He spat at her, though he did lower the volume. “Little Miss. ‘Tigerclaw-is-going-to-blow-up-the-chemical-factory-you-must-come-now!’ Then what do we find after we drag ourselves out of bed? No bomb, no Tigerclaw, just a bunch of robo-lackeys guarding the place!!”

He heard the young Kunoichi let out an aggravated huff as he yelled at her then hop the gap between the buildings; Jones quickly following. 

“He had a bomb.” She said for the millionth time as she walked up, “He said the words ‘we’ll blow up the chemical factory and level two blocks into the sewers.’ I don’t understand what happened between then and now but that’s exactly what he said he was going to do.”

Raphael opened his mouth to say something shitty when a hand appeared on his shoulder. It was Leo, finally lowering his guard enough that you could see he was barely awake and struggling to stay that way.

“It’s alright April, it’s better that we checked things out and found nothing than to have to fight someone like Tigerclaw while we’re half a- ahhhh….asleep.” The eldest yawned and then sighed, pointing over towards a nearby fire escape. 

“The bots are slowing down. Let’s just head home and call it night. If Tigerclaw blows up the factory, well…” He shrugged. “We’ll deal with it then…”

Casey however let out a snort. “So what; you’re just ‘gonna let them do whatever they want now?”

This time it was Raph who answered, “It’s their factory. If they want to sink it into the sewer, let ‘em. The cops and the city can handle the clean-up and maybe put good old Shredder in his place for once.”

“Dude.” Snapped Jones, “You really think they’d throw him in jail? Shredder buys his way out of everything. You know that. Since when did you stop giving a shit about the city?”

“Since I became a parent!” Raphael growled at him, “You don’t have to go home and take care of hatchlings, you idiot; we do!”

Letting out a scoff the vigilante lifted up his hokey mask and put his hands on his hips, looking genuinely put out. “Only because you don’t let me!” He barked back, “I half raised my little sister! Casey Jones is a babysitting expert!”

“Donnie would e-yahhhh…Eat you.” Leo replied through yet another yawn, “And not in a good way.” The blue banded turtle stretched out his arms and rolled the stiff muscles in his shoulders lose, completely unaware of the disgusted look on the human boy’s face at the innuendo Raph wasn’t sure Leo was awake enough to realize he said out loud.

Any other time and he might’ve found the lack of filter between Leo’s sleep-deprived brain and his mouth hilarious. 

“You threatened to go after the eggs, remember?” Leo hummed in satisfaction as he finally got one of his joints to crack.

Casey threw his hands up, not lacking energy even a little bit. “Because you TOLD me to!” He yelled, “Why can’t he get his head around-?!”

“Because in some ways, he’s still feral.”

This time it was April who spoke, saving Raphael from needing to try and explain the thing he still didn’t even completely understand.

“Even though he’s back to being himself again, his base instincts are still there at the forefront of his mind, stronger than before thanks to Stockman’s serum. Combine that with now being a parent and he’s on overdrive. It’s not something he can control. Like…Like…” She trailed off for a moment, struggling to find the right words before she snapped her fingers.

“I got it! It’s like the desire to protect your family and me. You won’t just one day sit back and let us all get hurt, you’ll act on reflex and jump in without even thinking about it. It’s the same with Donnie. He doesn’t hate you. He just needs time to get used to you being around them again, that’s all.”

Casey rolled his eyes and muttered, “Stupid uptight nerd. I only did it to help ’em anyway…” under his breath.

Raphael would’ve yelled at him to shut up and probably given that greasy haired bonehead a well-deserved smack upside that thick skull of his… If he wasn’t so damn tired.

Defending his mate’s honor would have to wait until after he got some shut-eye.

“Don’t worry.” April said consolingly as Raph turned and began to trudge over to the fire escape, “He’ll get over it eventually. Just give him-”

**( RAPHAEL! )**

A voice boomed inside Raph’s head so loud his vision shook.

**( LEONARDO! YOU MUST COME TO OUR HEADQOURTERS AT ONCE! )**

It was Professor Rockwell, doing that weird, psychic, tele-whatever long-distance communication thing again… 

A fucking warning would’ve been nice.

“No…” Raph heard Leo groan as he shook his head to clear his vision. “Just. No. Whatever Tigerclaw is blowing up, just let him. We’re going to bed.”

**( That’s just it; he already has. He’s blown up the water dams to the city’s drinking supply and flooded out the sewers. )**

“Aaand?” Raph mumbled, rubbing at his eyes. “Donnie and Metalhead have it covered. They upgraded the Lair’s emergency drainage so anything that comes-”

**( Metalhead is down. A virus is attacking his system as we speak, leaving your home utterly defenseless. )**

Raphael froze, every bit of him tensing as fear washed over him like a douse of freezing water. 

**( Slash and Leatherhead have been sent to retrieve Donatello. Last I checked they had found him and your offspring and are bringing them back to our headquarters. Once he’s here they’ll return to search for the rest of your family- )**

Rockwell kept talking but Raphael had stopped listening. Instead, he turned in the direction of the Mighty Mutanimals’ hideout and began to run, thoughts of his father, his mate, his BABIES running through his mind.

**( It was all a carefully planned ruse. )** He heard Rockwell continue, **( They purposefully sought out April and the boy- )**

“Hey!”

**( -in order to lead you astray from their main goal; to flood out your home and flush Splinter to the surface. )**

“Are they alright?” Raph heard Leonardo call, “Catarina and Paolo? Donnie? Mikey? Splinter??”

**( -They are arriving soon. I’ll know more once I’ve laid eyes on them. All I can tell you at the moment is that they are currently alive. )**

“Currently?!” Raphael felt his heart thud heavily in his chest, “What the shell’s that supposed to mean?!” but this time the ape fell silent.

“Hey you, monkey!! ANSWER ME!” He shouted into the sky as if that would somehow improve whatever psychic reception was needed for this mind-talking thing, but still there was no answer.

A flash of blue then yellow darted past him as Leo and April took the lead.

“He hasn’t seen them yet.” Yelled April, “He’s not about to tell you they’re perfectly ok only to find out they’re hurt. You’d go ballistic on him!”

“You mean like I’m going to do to you if my kids are hurt because you were too stupid to realize this was a fucking trap to separate us from our family?!” Raph spat at her, “I thought you could read minds and shit?!”

April scowled and yelled right back, “You know it doesn’t work like that!” 

“Raph, save it. It’s not April’s fault and you know it!” Snapped Leonardo, shifting as he ran to place himself between Raphael and their human friend. “Just focus on finding our mates and the hatchlings.”

“Yeah man, it’s not our fault!” Casey shouted from behind him, “She can read emotions not minds, and Shredder’s guys set all kinda traps! How the heck where we supposed to know this was a trap for a trap, huh?”

Raphael grit his teeth and kept his eyes ahead, focused on the direction of Slash’s home and hideout; Donatello, Catarina, and Paolo were his priority. Not kicking Casey or April’s ass for not realizing that Tigerclaw was leading them around by the nose. At least Rockwell said Donatello and the kids were on their way back…

That alone was a fact that he clung to as he ran, his anger turning into a nagging desperation to find his mate and see his babies.

By the time they reached the warehouse that Mr. Kurtzman had modified for the Mutanimals’ use, the desperation had changed into an anxiety fueled need to find and hold his family.

They hit the roof and Raphael shot past his brother and April, diving through the skylight and down into what was basically the Mutanimals’ hallway.

“Donnie?!” He called out, wide eyed and whipping his head around for any sign of the tall turtle, when he caught a scent; a soft innocent one that he recognized as the hatchlings.

Spinning around he narrowed in on it and ran. Only… He didn’t move.

His legs floundered and he quickly realized that he was being lifted into the air.

“April, I swear if you don’t-” He started to growl, only to hear another voice interrupt him.

**( It isn’t she who has hold of you, it is I. )** Rockwell said in an unusually stern voice, and Raphael’s body began to float down the hall and into what appeared to be a makeshift living-room.

Mondo was there, belly down on a leaking bean bag chair watching TV. with Metalhead slumped over on one side right beside him by the wall, eyes blinking on and off repeatedly but showing no sign of movement, while that stuck up chimp was floating in the corner, putting away what looked like wrapping of some sort. 

“Normally I wouldn’t care what you do or attempt to stop the four of you, however, there is something you need to know before you see your brother.”

Letting out a snarl Raph began to kick and punch, flailing in small circles as he fought to free himself from the psychic force holding him in place. “Fuck you, you hairy-assed-!”

“Your father, Michelangelo, and one of your children are still missing.”

Raph’s eyes went wide and he froze; every bit of him stiffening as his heart seized up in terror.

Leonardo was floated into view with April and Casey but even though he could see them he only barely registered they were there… The word ‘missing’ echoing loudly in his thoughts.

“What do you mean they’re missing?” Asked Leo in a voice like ice, “You have psychic powers; can’t you just find them?!”

“Only if they want to be found,” Rockwell replied in his same terse but calm tone, “As of right now they either do not wish to be found or are…deceased.”

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?!” Raphael found himself screaming, “FUCKING MONKEY, PUT ME DOWN RIGHT NOW! METALHEAD, FOR FUCK’S SAKE GET UP AND SHOOT HIM ALREADY!!”

“Guys, calm down.” He heard April say, “We’ll find them. We will. As long as work together we can-“

“Not to interrupt what I’m sure was about to be a touching pledge to retrieve their family, but I must also inform you that Donatello is injured.”

Raphael’s heart nearly stopped this time and he went rigid again.

“Dude, no offense, but you seriously suck at giving bad news.” He heard Casey say while April sounded like she was groaning into her hands.

“Heck yeah he does!” Mondo chimed in from the beanbag, turning down the volume on the TV, “Oh man, just wait until he tells ‘ya he had to knock out your baby mama because she didn’t want anyone touching her kid. Poor little baby dude was totally hurting and didn’t wanna come outta its shell, like, at all-”

“Thank you, Mondo.” Sighed Rockwell, but the gecko either didn’t hear him or didn’t care. 

“-like seriously, AT ALL. The sounds it was making was like nails-on-a-chalkboard level of bad. I was hurting just listening to it!”

“THANK YOU, MONDO GECKO.” Rockwell snapped, and finally the idiot fell silent. Though the damage was already done.

“The sedation was necessary.” The chimp began to explain, “He is still quite feral in some ways and with his injury, his child’s cries, and Slash’s presence, he became irrational. He was further injuring himself and precautions had to be made.”

“Where is he?” Raph snarled, “Where is Donatello?! WHERE’S MY KID?!”

He began to flail again, fighting the invisible force that held him with all his might.

“Let him go, Rockwell.” He heard his brother order in a warning tone, “I’ll stay and formulate a plan, but if you keep him from Donatello and our child any longer…”

Raphael didn’t get to hear the tail end of that threat, as the force that held him promptly dropped him. 

He hit the ground running and sprinted from the room, catching that sweet innocent scent again and followed it. The alarm scent of his lover caught in his nose next, mingling in with an overpowering musk that nearly drowned the others out.

Raph’s heart leapt in his throat. He rounded a corner and found himself drawn to where he knew was Rockwell’s lab and Slash’s old nest, but his old pal’s scent stayed strong, growing stronger and stronger, until he reached the door and slammed it open.

A loud, low growl greeted him as he burst into the room and he bristled at the sound.

With a fierce growl of his own to match it, Raphael snarled, “Fuck you.” in as deep and deadly a tone he could he muster.

It was Slash, white eyed and sitting before the den he’d dug back when he was turned feral, his hands raised into fists like he was ready for a fight. He stared Raph down for a moment, giving the intruder a quick once over, before he blinked and his eyes slid back to normal.

“Raphael…” He rumbled, “I- I’m sorry about that, brother. I didn’t realize how protective I’d be…”

Taking a firm step forward Raph growled low in the back of his throat, lifting his chin high in challenge. “Do I need to crack you in the head again? Donnie is mine and if you’ve laid one claw-”

The much larger turtle paled at Raphael’s words and raised his hands in surrender, frantically waving off the accusation. “No, wait, you’ve got it all wrong. I’m better now, I swear! It ain’t Donatello that triggered me, it was your kid!”

“My… Kid?!” Raphael repeated slowly, his gut and teeth clenching in disgust, when Slash groaned and shook his head.

“That came out bad.” The Mutanimal Leader mumbled, “I mean- look, he was hurt and when Donatello finally let Rockwell sedate him, and the doc forced the little guy out of his shell, he started squeaking really bad. He was so scared and suddenly I was fighting not to punch Rockwell in the face.”

Raphael relaxed just a little as his buddy rambled on anxiously.

“I just…” Slash groaned, “I have more control over those urges now, but I was so worked up while he was chirping for you and Donatello that I just had to stay and keep ’em safe until you or Leonardo showed. I knew you’d never forgive me if something happened to them, and heck, if anything happened to that tiny little guy in my home, I’d never forgive me either. So…”

Raph straightened as Slash gestured down into the den, his fists uncurling. 

“For real?” He asked warily, and Slash looked back at him, hesitant.

“Yeah.” The large tortoise finally sighed, “They’re family. They’re yours. And there ain’t no way I’m letting anyone touch ’em. I swear.” 

For the first time that night Raphael’s shoulders sagged and he found himself relaxing. 

“Thanks… Brother.” He said simply, offering the big guy a smile. 

Slash perked up in surprise and weakly smiled back. Slowly the big guy stood, removing himself from the entrance of the den he’d created.

“I’ll get ‘outta here.” Slash promised, “Leatherhead’s still out searching for your other hatchling, Michelangelo, and Splinter. I said I’d join him once I knew these two were safe.”

As he stepped away Raph hurried forward, quickly closing in on the entrance.

What he found when he slipped inside the smoothed-out dirt and rock hole, was enough to break his heart.

Donatello was laying limp atop an old mattress, his ankle bandaged and splinted with a tiny shell propped against his neck. Neither moved, not even when he drew closer.

“Raph?” Came Leonardo’s voice.

“In here!” He called back and then winced at how loud his voice sounded in the small space.

With his attention focused on his lover, he crept up beside the motionless turtle and knelt down beside his head. Just to be sure, he held his hand in front of Donnie’s face, and waited until he felt the warm puffs of breath that meant life.

He sighed in relief, then looked down at the shell still unmoving at Donatello’s neck. Up close he could smell it was Paolo. The soft scents of his hatchling tinged with fear that Raph had never smelled before from his little one.

His gut turned uncomfortably and ever so gently he reached down, cupping the small shell in his palm. His plastron tightened when the little one remained hidden inside, not coming out even for him.

“Hey, Paolo.” Raph whispered, leaning close to the tiny turtle. “How’s my brave little man, huh? Did you take on the rapids?”

He pulled the little shell in close to his own neck just the way the two always liked it and rumbled out a low and soft coo; far deeper and gruffer than the sounds Donnie made, but still normally had his infants settling down and nuzzling close. It was a sound they knew meant Daddy was there to protect them.

But not this time. Paolo didn’t budge or make a sound, didn’t even attempt to stick his nose out, and if it hadn’t been for the warmth and the soft beating of a tiny heart that could only just be felt through the still not fully hardened shell, Raphael may have feared the worst. 

“He’s not going to come out, is he?” He heard Leo ask, and Raph shook his head. 

He looked up to find the eldest, tired eyes watching their little one with a hard to read stare. Donnie stirred just then, drawing Raph’s attention back down to his lover. 

The taller turtle weakly reached a hand up and patted at his neck before lifting his head to look around, eyes cracked open in a bleary squint.

“Wha-? Where?” Donatello rasped and Raphael pulled the little shell away and handed Paolo out to Leonardo.

“Here.” He whispered, handing the delicate little one over to his brother before he bent down and helped ease his mate onto his lap.

“Easy, Donnie.” Raph whispered, “Paolo is safe, see?” He pointed at Leo but Donnie didn’t turn to look.

He stayed where he laid, his head on Raphael’s lap, and reached out to hug the emerald turtle’s knees.

“C-Catarina…” Donnie mumbled, his voice slurring some. “I…couldn’t hang on... Sh-she… I…Lost my grip in the current…” He whimpered and buried his nose into Raph’s thigh.

Raph’s heart clenched but he smiled despite it. He needed to be strong. Donnie needed him to be strong.

“We’ll find her.” He promised, his throat tightening as he spoke, “Her and Mikey and Sensei. Just try and rest, alright? You got banged up pretty good.”

With a slight whine, Donatello pulled himself in tighter and snuggled into Raphael’s legs, inhaling his mate’s scent deeply before closing his eyes and drifting quickly back to sleep thanks to whatever drug it was that Rockwell had given him.

Raphael wanted to scream, he wanted to throw things, he wanted to curl up and cry while at the same time sigh in relief that Donatello and Paolo were both alive and safe. He wanted to fight, to punch through a wall and hunt down his child and Mikey, then kick Shredder’s ass and find their father. 

Heck, he didn’t know what emotion he wanted to follow through with first!

“We need to go out and find them.” He finally said, looking up from Donnie to his older brother, “Cat, Mikey, and Master Splinter are still out there.”

But to his dismay, Leonardo shook his head, his eyes not on him but down on the little shell in his hands. 

“No.”

“What the fuck do you mean no!?” Raph cringed as Donnie shifted slightly, but upon seeing his mate was still asleep, he lowered his voice down to a harsh whisper. “Our daughter is still out there, alone and…”

He trailed off as Leonardo looked up, his now dull and weary eyes meeting Raphael’s. There were tears in them; a sight Raphael had only seen when he and Leo were a lot younger.

“Be-” Leo started, only to pause as his voice cracked. His shoulders shivered and a tear slid down his cheek. “Because damnit, I said so.” He finally choked out. “We’re shit right now, Raph. Look at us; We’re both barely awake, we were sloppy and hardly able to stay upright when fighting Footbots, and now you want to go out there and fight Tigerclaw and the rest of Shredder’s army??”

The older turtle shook his head, more tears sliding free, “Donnie is down, Catarina is missing, so is Mikey and Sensei and- and damnit, Raph; what if we go out there and you disappear next?”

Raph opened his mouth to protest but Leo wasn’t having it.

“Donnie’s instincts are still extreme at times and what if he reverts back because of what Stockbug did to him? I can’t raise Paolo by myself- I mean…”

He looked around a bit wildly then back at Raph. “What were we thinking?!” He gasped as though struggling to remain quiet. “Us, parents?? This is crazy! How could we ever think we could raise them safely when we’re still being hunted every day?! I…I…”

A small chirp sounded from Leo’s arms and they both looked down, finding Paolo, his small head emerging with wary clicks and chirps. 

The little one pushed out and wrapped the tiniest three-fingered hand around one of Leo’s thumbs and that’s when the blue-banded turtle began to lose it.

Leonardo’s whole body began to tremble as he choked back a cry, his face scrunching up in pain as he pulled Paolo up to his neck where the hatchling curled in close to take in the familiar scent of his father.

“We- we can barely keep ourselves safe.” Leo said through tears, “We can’t…I can’t protect them.” 

Shaking with the weight of his restrained sobbing, Leo broke before Raph’s eyes; gasping for breath as if he were going to drown in the tears that were now streaming freely down his face.

At first Raphael struggled with what to do, for Leo had never…he’d never… but then common sense took hold. This wasn’t just his Leader that was falling apart; this was his exhausted brother, lover, and fellow parent to their children who needed him…

“Dude, come on.” Raph whispered, reaching out and hooking his brother’s shoulders. Ever so gently he eased the older turtle down towards him.

Leonardo didn’t fight him, he simply flopped down. But even as tired as he was, he still had enough grace to carefully land so as not to disturb Paolo, and rested his head against Raphael’s shoulder.

“I couldn’t protect them…” Leo whimpered. “I just left… I abandoned our family.”

“Nah, man.” Raph shook his head, hugging him in tight, “What we did was learn today. We just hafta’ do things differently now. Plus, once Donatello’s head is back on straight, he’ll go crazy baby-proofing the Lair, creating escape plans, upgrading the system-”

“And if Catarina, Mikey, and our father are dead because of me?” Leo mumbled miserably; his cheeks still damp and body trembling but at least his breathing was back under control. “He’ll never speak to me again…”

This time Raph had to stifle a chuckle. “Stop stealing my lines.” Said Raphael, “And you’re forgetting that we both fell for the same trap. But it’s not ‘gonna happen again. We’ll figure out a way to survive going forward and you’ll take the lead and get us out of this mess like you always do. Now come on.”

He gave Leo the slightest shake and said softly, “Paolo needs you, man. He didn’t come out of his shell for Rockwell, Slash, Donnie, or me. He came out for you.” Raph smiled encouragingly and added, “Plus, a world where I’m the level headed one is just messed up.”

Dark blue eyes now tinted with red and slightly swollen, stared blankly at the floor for a few moments before Leo finally nodded in acknowledgment.

“Yeah…Sorry.” He heard his brother mutter, and this time Raphael allowed himself to chuckle.

“Come on, Lame-o-nardo. No one’s perfect, not even you. We’re all allowed one off day where we blubber like babies.”

Leo sighed, lowered his mask and wiped at his eyes before he turned and nuzzled into both Raph and Paolo’s little face that was still adamantly buried in Leo’s neck. 

“Thanks.” Was all Leonardo seemed to have the strength left to say, but Raphael wasn’t about to push or make fun of him for it.

The truth was he felt the same. As pissed as he was about staying put instead of going out there to raise hell, he didn’t know what he’d do if he lost Leo next… 

Catarina…Mikey…His father…Mikey’s weird ice-cream cat and even that stupid frog dog…

If any one of them were hurt…Shell, his stomach twisted into knots just thinking about it.

“The others are going out to search.” Leo murmured into him. “They better find them all alive or else-”

“They will.” Said Raph quickly.

He kissed the top of his brother’s head and rested his cheek against it. 

As much as he wanted to break down and punch things…One of them had to hold it together and right now, that someone had to be him.

Raphael sighed deeply.

This was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know its bad when Leo starts to swear.


	3. Ch. 3

“Aw, man…” 

The crafty nose of the warthog known as Bebop snorted and sniffed at the air.

“Why are we on trash duty out here at three AM?! We should be out there, checking the city, waiting for ‘ole Splinter to pop up from the sewer like a damn jack-in-the-box. Not digging through trash and- ugh…what is that?!”

Bebop paused mid sniff, a hand flying to his nose. 

“Oh man, that’s crap. That’s actual crap right there that’s what that is.” 

He spat and crossed his arms with a scowl.

“I ain’t ever ‘gonna get that smell outta my nose now.” 

“Kome now, Kom _r_ ade Be-bop.” Rumbled his old boss and now closest friend, Rocksteady, also known as Ivan Steranko, depending on his mood. “Is not so bad. Kould be vo _r_ sse. Ve kould be doing toilet duty again. I hate ze toilet duty. Esspecially Tige _r_ klaw’s little _r_ box. Is nassty.”

Bebop nearly choked at the phantom stench of the big tiger’s shit that crawled up his nose. 

“Yo man, don’t go bringing it up!” He swiveled in his purple boots and snapped, “Damnit Steranko, now it’s all I can smell. Freaking giant ass cat with his giant ass turds.”

He whimpered and rubbed at his poor piggy nose. “You know I’m sensitive to smells.”

“Ah, yes. Apologies, komrade.” Rumbled the rhino, stomping over a few bits of trash and muck, “I keep fo _r_ getting how easily you _r_ emembe _r_ smells of dings dat are not being in front of you.”

Bebop snorted at him but kept his nose covered; the energy lines that had once powered his suit, now fused to the flesh of his arms and hands, cast a strange ugly line of glowing purple across what was once an incredibly handsome face, while the robust leathery scent produced by the now heavy oils of his skin filled his nose and helped block out the phantom smells and ‘cleanse’ his nasal palate.

As useful as his new piggy scent was, it was still _rank._

Of course, he wouldn’t even be in this situation if it weren’t for those pain-in-the-tusk turtles! If only those little green punks hadn’t gotten in the way and screwed up their plan to negotiate with the Shred-man over the snake-girl, he’d still be sexy, smooth, wart-free, and chillin’ out in a high-rise condo with some fine hunnies in Miami instead of this dump.

The warthog found himself internally cursing and fantasizing different ways of payback against those shell-backed freaks, when he noticed his partner freeze.

Rocksteady’s rhino ears pricked, his horned nose lifted, sniffing the air as he scanned the mounds of trash and yuck.

“I smell tu _r_ tle.” He mumbled. When a rustling sound and a clink of a can caught both their ears.

Bebop stood tall and picked his own ears, eyes squinting through his visor, and caught a flash of green.

“tu _r_ tle!” Sternako roared. 

With a squeal Bebop shot forward, aiming his lasers high and shot a few purple beams in the direction the blur had raced off.

Sure enough, the orange banded turtle went sprinting out of the way, darting up and over a mound of trash before slipping out of view.

With a mighty bellow the rhino-man charged after the turtle, smashing hunks of broken car and rusted barrels out of his way.

Bebop chased behind him and reached up to one of the communication coms that had been fused to his body with his mutation.

“Yo! We got turtles down here.” Bebop yelled, “South side of the dump by the flood out pipe-things.”

He raised his hand and shot a few more blasts up and over his partner’s head at a whir of green, but the dang turtle just dodged them.

Steranko charged and plowed through a mountain of trash with brute strength, huge chunks of debris flying out of his way as easily as if he were running through a pile of leaves with only a few bits and pieces getting stuck on the golden spikes of his permanently attached shoulder pads.

“Kome out!” He called out. “Vhy _r_ un? Ve kan have much fun togezer, da?”

“Ooo-hooo!” Bebop sang, moon dancing up beside him. “Heck yeah we can. Just pop on out and we’ll have ourselves a party on your _face_!”

His big friend snorted and sniffed at the air, his ears pricking and swishing as he pawed at the earth like an impatient horse. 

“Gone.” He rumbled. “Damn. Split up, ve find him.”

Grunting in agreement Bebop spun on his heel and began to dance off towards what looked like a washed-up pile of pizza boxes.

He’d just moonwalked passed them when he heard Rocksteady snarl. “De _r_ e you a _r_ e!” 

Loud crashes and bangs sounded and Bebop spun back towards the fight.

“Hang on now, save some for me!” He laughed. Once more he spun around, though this time he kicked on his boots and made them glow.

“Oooo-hooo!” He sang and kicked off the ground, the antigravity laser rails forming at his feet and guiding him up into the air. Up and up he skated until he was able to look down and spot the turtle, his rhino friend right on the orange turtle’s heels.

“Sha Mon! Hiihi!” He squealed, lifting his lasers and firing away. “Like shootin’ turtles in a barrel!”

The orange banded turtle was just out of Rocksteady’s reach, weaponless yet doing that creepy white-eyed thing those turtle fools usually did when they were _for real_ serious about a fight, yet the dang thing kept right on running! He never stopped, never threw a weapon or a can, just seemed to be playing _dodge-the-rhino._ Not for long, though!

Letting out a hum of his favorite tune he began to dance in the air, rocking his hips and shooting lasers from his belt.

“Oh yeah, take that, and _that_ and wooo-hooo!” 

The darkness was lit up like a rave, and he was the D.J.; every shot exploding a pile of trash in a crazy sick beat, just barely missing the turtle with every blast. Obnoxiously the orange masked pest flexed and leapt out of the way before diving over a trash heap and vanishing from view.

“What the-? Oh, come _on_!” Bebop snapped, and he zoomed over the pile only to confirm the turtle had ditched them again. He shot a few more blasts just to be sure, sending trash and debris flying every which way, but nothing living moved or yelped.

“Gone again.” He heard Rocksteady rumble. “Kome now, tu _r_ tle; is no need to being shy!”

Shy… Now that he thought about it, wasn’t the orange one supposed to be a chatterbox? Yet they hadn’t heard one annoying comment or ‘booty-kasha’, or whatever the heck that fool liked to yell.

Not that he was complaining… Actually, right now he _was_ \- Of all the times for that green geek to learn to shut up; it’d be a lot easier to find him if he ran his mouth like normal.   
He tapped the sides of his techno vizor, attempting to get some kind of reading. “Damn, x-ray’s still on the fritz.” Huffing in annoyance, Bebop whisked around and skated back down to the ground.

“Stupid-ass turtle.” He snapped. He looked over his shoulder then back towards Steranko who was sniffing at the air, his ears pricked and listening. “Think we should split up?”

“Net.” The rhino grunted, “Is maybe vhat tu _r_ tle vants. Ve stick togeze _r_ , ve find and den smash tu _r_ tle into tiny pieces. Da?”

Bebop nodded and smiled at the thought. Some action at last!

“Sounds good to me.” He said in a sing song voice, before grimacing and waving a hand in front of his piggy nose. He’d gotten some mild relief up in the air, but back on ground level with all the garbage just made the smell worse.

Half heartidly he looked to his friend, “Dawg, tell me that smell is you..."

Steranko shook his horned head, “Net; you know is not me. Dis place is full of-” He stopped, straightening, and his rhino ears swiveled.

Bebop pricked his ears as well, trying to catch whatever it was his partner was hearing.

“Yo, is it the turtle?” He whispered when he picked up nothing. 

Raising a thick hand, the big rhino hushed him. “Sound is sha _r_ p, soft.” He murmured. “Like bi _r_ d. Maybe tu _r_ tle slipping up.”

Smiling at the thought, Bebop pranced over to his comrade, “Which way, boss?” He asked.

Steranko nodded in the direction they’d just come from. 

“Circling back?” Bebop asked, and the big rhino mutant shrugged. 

“Maybe is mo _r_ e. If one is hurt, Zey’d stick close, no?” 

Bebop’s eyes went wide. “Oh, _please_ make my day!” He cheered, “Let there be a hurt turtle we can tie up and stick a bow on for the Shred-man!” They were going to get a promotion for this, he could feel it!

Throwing his arms up he ran past his rhino friend and jogged in the direction they’d come. 

“Come on out, turtles!” He sang, “You know you want toooo!”

He hummed to himself and scooted sideways, gyrating towards a towering mound of junk.

“Come on out~” He sang between grunts of a tune, “Come on out! Come on out and meet your end my friend!”

Rocksteady snorted and let out a few loud sniffs at the air from behind him, no doubt still searching for that dang turtle. They walked a little ways back the route they’d come, sniffing, ears on high alert, when just as they’d hoped, the turtle appeared.

Again, they gave chase, and again they lost it…

Over and over and over this happened. Nothing more than chasing and firing off lasers that missed as the agile turtle out maneuvered them and disappeared like all the other times before. 

“That’s _it_!” Bebop snarled after yet another game of chase the turtle. He reached down and grabbed a metal can before hurling it at the spot where the turtle had disappeared. 

“I’m done!” He squealed, “So done! I ain’t chasing that little pain in the tail around anymore! We are serious fighters here!! I’m not wasting my time playin’ no game of hide-and-freakin-seek!!!”

Letting out a warthog worthy scream he stomped his feet and stormed off back in the direction of their van.

“Forget this, man!” He pouted, “It just ain’t worth it!”

“Uspokoysya,” Rocksteady tried to console, “Is no big deal; ve get him next time he appear _r_ s, da?”

“No!” The warthog snapped back out of temper, “Screw him, man! Just, just forget ’im. I’m not in the mood anymore…”

Trying to hide how hurt he truly was, he crossed his arms and hunched his shoulders in. The nerve of that punk; teasing them, leading them on, then bailing on them right when stuff was getting good. Might as well have given him a case of blue balls and left him by himself in bed!

Bebop pouted and sniffled a little. He just wanted to be a good mutant henchman and beat up a turtle for the boss, was that really so hard to understand?!

“Kom _r_ ade-” He heard Steranko call, but Bebop was not in a listening mood.

“I said forget it!” He snapped, when he heard Rocksteady call out to him again.

“No, vait! Lissten.”

Still pouting Bebop looked back, only to find the big rhino standing stock still, his ears pricked, listening.

“Yo, I already told you I’m done with him.” Bebop spat, when Steranko turned and stared curiously over at one of the mountains of trash.

Without giving Bebop so much as a glance he turned and began to walk towards the heap of garbage. 

“Hello?!” Bebop called in exasperation, “Did you _not_ just hear me?!” But the rhino man just kept walking, his gaze determined.

“Oh fu-fine!” He huffed.

Arms thrown up in exasperation, he trudged after his friend, scowling the entire time to rub in how displeased he was that they were still pursuing that obnoxious reptile when a faint sound caught his ear.

His paused mid-step, waiting, and he heard it again; it was a faint squeaking noise. A gentle sound that tugged at him for some reason.

Curiously he followed after Rocksteady and climbed up the mountain of filth, his ears swiveling to catch the little squeaks and chirping sounds.

They grew louder yet remained muffled as they reached the top, and though it took them both a minute to figure it out, they eventually narrowed in on where the peeping was coming from;  
There was a large sewer pipe that poked out from the trash, a river of run-off from when they’d flushed the lines still dribbling from its cold, dark, mouth. Large wads of mushy cardboard had been caught here and there along the deep ruts the water had caused, some of it hanging from jagged bits of metal and broken glass while others clung to the sides of old tires. 

One patch of soggy waste had been caught on the edge of what looked like a rusted brown shopping cart half buried by a rotting old couch. The squeaking seemed to be coming from its direction, something that Rocksteady picked up on quite quickly. 

His partner jumped down and splashed into the still running stream of sewer juice, his blue eye narrowed in on the cart.

“What is it?” Bebop called, but all the big rhino did was shrug, his focus still trained on the shopping cart.

His curiosity got the better of him and soon Bebop found himself sliding down the hill of garbage to join his companion. He shivered in disgust as he felt his boots sink slightly into the mud and slime, but kept his ears alert, that strange almost pleading trill calling him in to investigate.

“Maybe is dog toy?” Sternako grunted as he inched closer to the couch and cart.

“Or maybe some kinda kid’s toy. You know how they get when the batteries start to die, right?” Bebop added.

Gripping the still dripping couch by one end, Rocksteady managed to tug it free and flop it down with a splat in the muck. As it landed, the squeaking stopped and whatever it was fell silent. 

There was still a mess of cans, cardboard, paper and junk to pull apart, and on any other day he would’ve said ‘screw it’ to his curiosity; he was tired, he stank, and he had no clue how to get the nasty stains out of his suit, but whatever it was that had made that noise seemed to spur him on to find it.

“It better not be _r_ at.” He heard his pal call, “I hate _r_ ats.”

“Fo’ real? We’ve fought that big daddy-o rat before and you’ve never complained about it.” 

“Yes, but dat is v _h_ y I am hating _r_ ats.” Steranako grunted, “One kan only have ho _r_ n handed to him so many times befo _r_ e sight of _r_ ats begins to make feel uneassy.”

Piece by piece the warthog managed to strip away the sopping food wrappers and wet papers. “Ok, but for real; what if it IS the rat-man and he squeaking ‘cuz he’s hurt?” Bebop said with a grin, “Check this out; If he’s down for the count and we’re the ones to bring him in? We’re talking a serious pay raise, know what I’m saying?”

“Smeshnoy. Keep with the d _r_ eaming, kom _r_ ade. Ve a _r_ e not being so lucky…”

Whatever else Rocksteady said went through one piggy ear and out the other, because Bebop had just pulled away a sizable chunk of _he-didn’t-even-want-to-know-what_ , revealing a nest of trash inside the ancient shopping cart tucked behind a plank of wood that the wet cardboard had been clinging to, and right in the thick of it was a small, chirping, green-shelled…Turtle?

He hesitated, staring down at the little thing, trying to figure out just how the heck a turtle had ended up in the dump, or when turtles started chirping for that matter; when a tiny and bloody three-fingered hand reached up to wrap around the old cart’s metal bars.

Wait, _hand_??

Bebop just stared at it, his mouth dropping.

It was a _mutant_ turtle! The smallest one he’d ever seen!

“Vhat is it? Vhat did you find??” Rocksteady called.

“It’s…” Bebop began, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, when the tiny thing rolled in the soggy trash it was laying in and let out a loud and pathetic thrill. 

His heart broke.

“It’s a baby!” He practically cried, and he wrenched the wood and muck aside then reached in, scooping the small, filthy, turtle up and held it in his hands.

It was so small it fit easily in both his palms, its tiny fists and legs curling protectively into itself as its bitty head tucked down as though preparing to disappear into its shell. It was bleeding too, a fact that had him frantically searching it for any sign of its injury which he found rather quickly, for there was a small trickle of blood coming from a jagged break in the right side of its chest…Shell? Whatever you called its front torso.

“Is not baby, is to _r_ tle.” He heard Steranko snort as he trudged closer through the mire of waste.

“It’s a _baby_ turtle!” Bebop replied, still stunned. “Like the big turtles, only smaller!” He froze, his blood running cold before he looked away from the infant in his hands to his partner, “Holy crap, they’re multiplying!! Did- did we just flush out a whole nest?! Are there more?!”

A sickening feeling curled in his stomach at the thought and he gasped. 

“What if we killed _babies_ , dawg?! I didn’t sign up to be no baby-killer!!”

The rhino mutant’s one good blue eye widened at that. “Vait.” He rumbled, looking down at the baby, now silent but shivering, then back at Bebop, “Dis is vhy o _r_ ange tu _r_ tle not stay to fight. He vas sea _r_ ching. Looking for baby! _His_ baby.”

“Woah, woah, _his_?” Bebop snapped, “Come on, you don’t know it’s his, it could be a mutant that they found or-”

“Hatched f _r_ om pu _r_ ple tu _r_ tle, _r_ emembe _r_? Fly-man’s krazy expe _r_ iment.” Rumbled Steranko, and a tingling numbing sensation shot straight to Bebop’s groin. 

His knees grew weak and he whimpered, his rhino companion quickly stepping in to grab him by the shoulder and steady him as he swayed.

“Oh, man.” Bebop managed to choke. “I forgot. That poor guy…He had them through his…his…”

A phantom pain of sympathy shot through his penis at the thought of what Xever had shared with them; the fact that Stockman had mutated them into creatures unfortunate enough to give birth through their man-straws.

As he crumbled, the little one in his hands began to chirp and trill again, this time softer, and its shivers became more intense.

The feeling of that small, helpless, infant trembling in his hands snapped the warthog’s attention back on it and off his groin in seconds. 

“Hang on, little turt’.” He squeaked and he pulled the little one in, tucking the fragile infant into the crook of his vest where it curled against his side. “Come on; we gotta get it warm and cleaned up.”

Without waiting to see if Steranko would agree, he turned and headed back in the direction of the van. Shortly after he heard the heavy thumps of padded feet as his rhino buddy followed.

“You don’t zink ve sca _r_ ed ze o _r_ ange tu _r_ tle away for good, do you?” He heard the big guy ask, sounding slightly concerned, and all Bebop found himself able to do was snort in reply.

“No way.” He chuckled. “Let me tell you; nothing is more frightening than a pissed off mama. Trust me on this one. I grew up with a lot of little brothers and sisters, and one time my father lost two of them at street carnival. Nothing, and I mean _nothing_ , was gonna make him go home without my little sisters because the ass woopin’ my mama would’ve given him- hooo boy, she would’ve tanned his hide and hung it out as a warning to others then gone out to find them both herself.” He laughed “That daddy-o won’t be leaving here without this little guy. He’ll be back.”

Steranko snorted from behind him, then asked “How you know is boy? Maybe is gi _r_ l?”

Bebop shrugged and curiously pulled the little one out from his vest. The tiny turtle had been comfortably nestled up against his side and cried out a few angry squeaks when the cool air hit it once more. 

“I think I saw on a nature show once about being able to tell by its shell or maybe its tail?” He mumbled to himself. 

With his arms out straight, he held the small turtle in his hand and looked it up and down. He vaguely could remember watching something about turtles’ shells being concaved if they were boys or flat if they were girls…Or maybe it was a fat tail meant boys or-?

As he struggled to think, the little one’s tail uncurled from its shell, fell straight, and a stream of urine was released from somewhere between its tiny, pudgy legs.

Bebop yelped and jumped, snapping his legs apart and out of the way to avoid any pee on reflex… Not that it would’ve mattered at that point.

“Eh, nozing popped out.” Said Steranko as he leaned in for a closer inspection. “Must be baby gi _r_ l-turtle.”

Bebop gently wiggled the tiny squeaking turtle to help shake off the last of the droplets before he dared tuck her back into the safety and warmth of his vest.

“Ima’ call you _Sunshine_.” He cooed at her as the little one tucked back up against him, her tiny nose burrowing into the sparse bristles of hair on his skin while her arms and legs curled in as close as they could without retreating into her shell. “Because that’s what you are, yes you _are_!”

The baby chittered and softly clicked pathetically against him, cuddling into him with a shudder.

“Aw, our baby-girl is cold.” Bebop pouted and Rocksteady nodded in agreement.

“Ve should get d _r_ y quick befo _r_ e malyshka is katching ze sniffles.”

“And who knows when baby-girl last ate?” The warthog added. He swiveled his head to look out across the landscape of garbage once more, trying to catch the sound of the no doubt frantic father-turtle still searching for his baby. “Man, we gotta have some food laying around. You still on that salad kick? Maybe little Sunshine will nibble on some lettuce. Do turtles eat lettuce?”

The big rhino mutant scratched his chin in thought. “Bette _r_ not t _r_ y, might make little one sick. Babies often eat special diet.”

“Oh, so you’re an expert on babies now?”

“Hey, am not just fo _r_ me _r_ A _r_ ms Deale _r_ , I also have nephew; back in Mothe _r_ _R_ ussia I am being kalled Dyadya Ivan…Even if I have not seen him since…” 

\-------

The Rhino-man looked down at his hands with a pained frown; rough, pebbly, ashen skin and hoof-like nails at the end of four grotesquely thick fingers. Gold knuckle-dusters bearing the soviet hammer, proof of his Mafia ties, were permanently fused to his joints. They were the hands of a monster, a mutant freak who could never return home.

But...they were also the hands that had once been human. Once strong enough to bash someone's face in yet gentle enough to hold his newborn nephew. He could still see the infant, wrapped in a blue cloth and looking like an ant in his humungous palms.

It was hard to believe his life had fallen to this point; He may have started out as just another starving orphan in Moscow, but he had been resourceful in keeping himself and his brother, Boltak, alive. He’d fought for the honor of his country as a soldier, won himself status and fame as a great hunter, he had even worked from the ground up in the arms business to the point where he could live in luxury and see to it that his whole family would never want for anything again.

Years of blood, sweat, and tears, and for what? Boltak, Yelena, and little Alexei… The only blood kin he had left in this world and he could never face them again.

If only those damned turtle mutants had not interfered, then he would still be-!

A small sneeze and another fit of shivers tugged Rocksteady’s attention back down to the poor creature in Bebop’s hands; the very image of his hated enemies… Except for being so small… Innocent…

“Dang.” The warthog murmured, hugging the tiny turtle in as close as he dared without smothering it. “I think little Sunshine already caught a chill. Damnit, whose whack idea was it to try and drown freaking babies?! That shit’s just all kinds of messed up!”

Rocksteady found he could only snort in anger and begrudging agreement.

Yes, he hated those turtle mutants. He wanted nothing more than to pop their annoying green heads like blueberries for the shame and humiliation they had caused him. But even he could not bring himself to feel anger towards a defenseless infant, no matter who its parents were.

There were some lines that should not be crossed, even in war. 

\-----

Grumbling under his breath, Bebop cradled the little turtle to keep her safe and warm until they were able to get to the van.

The poor baby’s shell was still bleeding some but thankfully not as badly as it had when they first found her. Little Sunshine was a trooper; shivering, cold, and chirping the world’s most pitiful sound ever, but she was hanging in there; definitely a sign that she was the offspring of those annoying turtles they were always chasing around.

Rocksteady was kind enough to get the van doors open and click on the interior lights as Bebop hopped up into the back where they had a few old shirts and a collection of sweat-rags. 

Something in there had to be clean, and as he shifted around the pile, he discovered he was right. Laying at the very bottom there was an old shirt he knew neither of them had worn as it was too small for either of them since they’d mutated and would’ve eventually become yet another sweat or oil rag.

It was a dark green camo shirt unbefitting of a little lady, but for the time being it was all they had. 

“Now you hang on, Sunshine, this might sting.” He ripped a long strip off the shirt and then a second, smaller piece, before he plopped down on the van floor before gently coaxing the little turtle out from his vest.

Her little face scrunched in displeasure and she began to peep and chirp, her tiny voice trilling in protest while her limbs and tail curled protectively into her shell.

“Now, now; you’re alright.” Bebop found himself whispering before he wet the dark green fabric with some water from a half-empty plastic bottle and dabbed at the break in her shell to get the wound at least somewhat clean.

As soon as he touched that tiny, red, crack, Sunshine shrieked- a little foot aiming up and kicking at his hand as though to try and fight him off.

_‘Huh, wonder if the karate-thing is genetic?’_

The warthog couldn’t help but smile apologetically as he cleaned around the cracked shell and wiped as much grime and mud as he could off of little Sunshine. Once she was clean enough to wrap, he used the other strip of cloth to wrap around her itty-bitty body like a bandage. 

“I know it hurts.” He murmured to her, “We go through this every time your mean-o daddies beat us up. Yes we do. Steranko over there is a big ole baby, just like you are, yes he _is~_ ”

“Hey.” His partner grunted in protest. “Vhen tu _r_ tles kut deep, it hu _r_ ts. Leave me alone. You a _r_ e even bigger _r_ baby.”

“Yes I _am~_.” Bebop sang as he tied the bandage off in a little bow on the babies front, just tight enough to hopefully keep that crack from bleeding again.

“Say, _‘I’m a big baby when he pulls out the alcohol’_ , yes I am, yes I-”

“What do we have here? Two bums too lazy to be chasing down half-drowned turtles?”

Bebop nearly swallowed his tongue at the call of a new voice, one he recognized and did _not_ want to hear.

Hun…

In a flash his buddy Rocksteady clicked off the lights and closed the van doors, sealing Bebop inside.

“Privet, Hun;" he heard Rocksteady call, a nervous hint to his voice, "I fo _r_ get we kall you. Tu _r_ tle al _r_ eady kick our tail and leave; com _r_ ade Be-bop is just tending to wounds, is all.”

Biting his lip nervously, Bebop pulled what was left of the camo shirt closer and swaddled Sunshine up in it the best he could before tucking the clicking and chirping bundle up back beneath his vest, cradling his arm close to his chest to hold her there.

“Shhh,” He whispered, trying to soothe the fussy infant, “Come on now, this ain’t the time. He’ll straight up eat you, girl!”

So long as she was under his vest, he could activate his cloaking device and hide them both if needed, but that wouldn’t do anything to cover up the noise. Sunshine’s chirps were like a little tracking beacon!

He rocked her a little and bounced her in the crook of his arm, trying desperately to will her into silence while he tried to follow the conversation happening outside.

“Did the turtle in question have another turtle with him?” He heard the sly voice of Hun ask, “Maybe a small, diapered turtle?”

“Diape _r_?” Rocksteady rumbled, “Like baby? Net, no baby he _r_ e; was just pesky o _r_ ange tu _r_ tle and us, da?”

Bebop’s snout crinkled at the mention of a baby. He was starting to feel some bad vibes about this whole situation…

\--------

“I see…” Hummed Hun, strolling calmly past the rhino, either too disgusted or too bored to have a face to face conversation with him. “You know they have babies down there, right?” He asked, the scrawny man making as if he were going to lean casually against the side of the van, but upon seeing its muck-covered wheels and peeling paint job, scowled, and decided against it. 

Rocksteady had to keep his annoyed expression in check, _‘Vyskochka; who wears black silk shirt to dump? You look like pidar.’_

As if on cue, Hun began to inspect his nails, and it was all the rhino mutant could do not to snicker at his own thoughts.

“I’ve seen the boy and that red-headed girl gathering baby supplies, and she certainly doesn’t look like she’s carrying.”

That certainly sobered the mood. He did not know how old the turtle mutants were, but he was positive that their meddling human friends were bairly in their twenties. Since when did the Foot start stalking children bairly old enough to be called adults??

“N-net… Is impossible.” Rocksteady tried to say but Hun just let out a laugh.

“Fool.” He sneered, “You know the scrawny one is an egg-laying freak. It was only a matter of time before the ‘he-she’ started to rut with the others. Disgusting bunch of animals.”

\----------

Back inside the van, the small turtle in Bebop’s arms curled her face against his ribs and nuzzled into him, her soft chirps being muffled as she cuddled closer, trying to stay warm.

“Yes… Is most dissgussting.” Rocksteady’s voice could be heard agreeing followed by an audible gulp, “But, uh, no tu _r_ tles here. So-”

“If you happen to find one.” Hun’s voice interrupted, “A baby that is, bring it to me.”

Tensing, Bebop carefully leaned closer towards the open front seat window and strained his ears to listen for any details. Whatever Hun wanted with Sunshine, couldn’t be good…

“Huh? But all tu _r_ tles a _r_ e to being handed over to Sh _r_ edder?” Murmured Rocksteady, a hint of unease in his tone.

“Yes, all except for one.” Hun chuckled, “You see, it’s my payment. Check with your boss if you want. I get one of the babies and get the pleasure of turning it into jiăyú tāng.”

“…Vhat?”

“Turtle soup.”

A sudden urge to gag welled up from Bebop’s stomach and it took a tremendous amount of will-power not to retch right there.

_‘I was joking! Who eats a baby?!?!’_ He thought, cuddling the small one closer, _‘I can’t even stomach veal. What the hell is wrong with this man?!’_

A horrifying thought came to him then; Shredder had promised Hun he could have the baby as payment. 

Shredder knew there would be babies down in the tunnels, and yet he flooded it anyway. 

_‘That sick bastard!’_

Rocksteady must’ve felt the same for his voice wavered this time as he spoke.

“Dat is…I mean, good fo _r_ you. Tu _r_ tle…uh, eating is not my, ah, I am prefer _rr_ ing of ze salad-”

Radio static erupted in the van, nearly sending Bebop through the roof.

_“Splinter has been spotted!”_ Tigerclaw’s voice roared, _“I need everyone at Pier 36. Hun, bring your men; he is not alone!”_

A loud croaking sounded over the radio followed by cursing and more static before the whole thing went dead. 

All Bebop could do was raise an eyeridge at it. 

Face off against a grumpy croaking rat-grandpa? No thanks. Like hell he was about to go charging into that dumpster-fire…

“Sounds like some fun is happening without us, boys!” Hun hollered and Bebop heard the sound of multiple feet as they pattered away followed by ‘whooping’ and cackles of several other men.  
The Purple Dragons.

Were they surrounded this whole time??

This wasn’t even their turf! What were these fools doing patrolling outside of Chinatown?

Wait- they weren’t keeping an eye on _them_ , were they? There was no way Shredder could know that him and Steranko looked the other way while Xever busted the nerd turtle outta Stockman’s lab, right??

_‘Easy Anton, get ahold of yourself. If the jig was up, you’d already be sausage by now. Just play it cool!’_ He swallowed back his growing anxiety and huddled up against the back of the front seat just in case, shielding the fragile infant from view. 

“Da, ve katch up!” Rocksteady called, and even without seeing the look on his face it was obvious his enthusiasm was strained. “Kan’t vait to smash _r_ at head in! Heh, heh…”

All Bebop could do was sit there, listening and holding his breath as he gently rocked the small turtle still bundled up against his chest, hoping that Hun was a bigger idiot than Ivan was a lousy actor.

“It’s ok; I gotchu, baby-girl.” He murmured down to the little one still chirping away, “It’s all cool; we’re just gonna wait right here while ‘Uncle Ivan’ makes the crazy Asians go away. Don’t even worry ‘bout it-”

The back doors flung open and he damn near jumped out of his skin, his heart in his throat and his hands protectively wrapping around the defenseless child. 

Rocksteady was standing there, his ears tilted forward and his beady eyes focused in on him.

“Tikho; stay put. Not gone yet.” Rocksteady rumbled lowly and Bebop nodded, understanding completely.

The big Rhino put on a show of throwing his arms up and snapped, “Kome now, Be-bop; get self togeze _r_ , we needing to go chase Splinte _r_!”

He waved up over the top of the van and seemed to peek as though checking if anyone was still there.

“I said we katch up!” He shouted, “You go, we be de _r_ e- save some fight for us.”

Bebop held his breath as he listened, sure enough catching the sound of an engine rumbling to life. Tires squealed, and only when he heard what sounded like a truck tear out of the dump and saw Rocksteady visibly relax did he do so as well.

“Oh man, tell me the baby-eating, Bruce Lee wannabe, is gone?”

His companion nodded and offered Bebop a crooked smile. “Yes. Sick man is gone. How is malyshka?”

Glancing down and lifting up the edge of his vest, Bebop found his Sunshine curled comfortably into his side. Her small trills were softening and thankfully her shivering had all but stopped.

“She’s chillin’, in a good way.” He replied, and he gently touched the side of her small, green cheek. “She’s warmed up good, but I bet she’s hungry. We seriously need to get her back to her daddy-o before that sick mother-fucker comes back and finds out we have her. Seriously yo’; we gotta put out flares or something.”

As he spoke Rocksteady’s ears swiveled back. 

“May not have to.” He grunted softly, and the big Rhino turned.

Standing behind them a few feet away, was a glowering, white-eyed, orange banded turtle with a single nun-chuck in hand.

Out of all of them, this one Bebop recognized as the friendliest of the turtles. And for that, he was grateful, because the motor-mouth looked anything _but_ gentle right now. He looked fierce; a wild, angry, mess, and if that was how the friendly one looked, then he didn’t even want to know what the others would’ve been like… Especially that psycho red one with the crazy forks.

Damn, he sure hoped they weren’t about to find out either…

As they watched the young turtle let out a growl, a sharp blade flicking out from the nun-chuck shortly after.

That daddy-o meant business, and Bebop couldn’t help but gulp.

“Uh…” Rocksteady stammered, taking a hesitant step away from the van, and with that one step the turtle took one firm and definitive step forward of his own. He was coming whether they wanted him to or not.

Bebop whimpered and clutched the infant closer, knowing deep down that the tiny creature in his arms was the only reason that the turtle hadn’t lunged for their necks already.

“You know.” He heard Rocksteady say after clearing his throat, “I, uh, zink I saw tu _r_ tle. _R_ ight, kom _r_ ade? Is vay over de _r_ e, da?”

The warthog looked incredulously over at his pal only to see Rocksteady facing away from the angry turtle and pointing over to one of the mounds of garbage.

“What have you been smoking, yo?!” Bebop squeaked, when the rhino grunted and jerked his head so that his jagged horn was pointing towards a pile several yards away.

“Is best to leave little Sunshine safe and sound he _r_ e in van vhile ve sea _r_ ch fo _r_ tu _r_ tle, no?”

Things finally clicked into place and Bebop snapped upright. “Oh!” He practically yelped, “Uh, yeah, good idea, dawg.” He raised his voice a bit louder, just in case. **“I’ll just leave this little beauty right here. In the van. While we look for the turtles somewhere else.”**

Ok, so maybe acting was harder than he thought…

Carefully he pulled the little bundle out from his vest. Sunshine didn’t seem to appreciate the change in temperature for her tiny face scrunched up and she sucked her head deeper into the shirt he’d used to wrap her up with.

She fussed a little but didn’t start to complain until after he set her down and released his grip from her bundled up form.

Loud chirps and clicks filled the van and hell if that orange turtle didn’t tense up tighter then a dog ready to maul himself a piggy and turn it into bacon! 

Scooting from the van as quickly as he could, Bebop slipped between his much larger friend and the potentially homicidal turtle who matched each of their steps with one of their own.

“Come on, let’s go!” He squealed and together they began to power-walk, putting some much-needed distance between them and the angry ninja.

With those terrifyingly white eyes fixed into a glare that never left them, Bebop watched the orange turtle step carefully up to the van. He stared at them for a moment, then disappeared inside.

“Tu _r_ tle is diffe _r_ ent now.” He heard Steranko mutter and said turtle re-emerged, little Sunshine now safely in the crook of her daddy’s arm with his blade still cautiously branded as he slowly backed away. His creepy eyes never leaving theirs as he continued to back away. “He no longe _r_ has eyes of child, but eyes of a man villing to kill…”

Bebop shook his head. “Nah.” He murmured, watching the ninja mutant until he disappeared. “Those are just the eyes of a father.”


	4. Ch.4

With his kusarigama blade still brandished, Michelangelo remained on high alert, refusing to turn his back on Bebop and Rocksteady, no matter how caring and kind they were acting.

They could be pretending, luring him into a trap…

Tricking people with fake friendship was what bad-guys did best, after all. He’d learned that lesson the hard way.

A soft chirp sounded from within the bundle in the crook of his arm but he refused to glance down no matter how much the ache in his chest begged him to.

Blood; man he already hated how easily he recognized the smell, like old metal pipes but warmer- like scraped skin against hard pavement after slamming off your board, or a shoulder grazed by a flying shuriken- and the fact that the scent was coming from little Cat was the worst possible feeling in the world. 

He wanted to freak out, wanted to rip apart Shredder’s whole stupid army, wanted to cry his eyes out and hug their baby girl close until that awful smell went away. He wanted Leo to tell him everything was going to be ok while Raph promised to smash the Foot to pieces and Donnie did whatever magical-science wizardry he does in order to patch them up whenever they got hurt.

But it was just him right now, and he couldn’t do any of those things until Catarina was safe.

White-eyed he shot up the side of a mountain made of trash, darting from one moldy foothold to the next, allowing his speed and weight to carry him through each jump without a free-hand; Donatello had a more sciencey word for it, but all Michelangelo had ever needed to know was that as long as he kept propelling forward, he didn’t need to worry about falling backward.

Only when he reached the top and was sure he wasn’t being followed did he slip over its disgusting side and dare set down his weapon to give the precious bundle a quick look. 

_‘Where’s the blood coming from?’_ He traced one finger over her tiny body, carefully checking beneath the shirt the two mutants had wrapped her in. _‘Donnie always says use pressure to stop bleeding, so I gotta-’_

Catarina shrieked as he tugged the fabric loose and exposed her to the cool air, her little arms and legs tucking in as she clenched her eyes closed and promptly began to squirm.

“Easy, shhh.” He whispered at the tiny turtle’s fussing, “Cat, please don’t do this now; I need to make sure you’re ok.”

He peered over the side of the trash pile just to be sure that no one was there, then went back to checking over his infant.

The wound was to her plastron on her right side, a small jagged break in the shell that was still oozing some but overall looked like it had mostly stopped. Bebop, judging from the smell of sour pork and hair-gel, had bandaged her up with a long strip of fabric from the dark green camo shirt that she’d been wrapped up in. There was a little bit of blood on the bandage from where it’d been resting on the break, but otherwise it looked sorta ok. Not perfect, definitely dirty, but ok enough for now.

At least he could take ‘freak out’ off his things-to-do-later-when-not-running-from-Foot-creeps- list.

Something shifted in the distance and Mikey’s head snapped up, his eyes sliding back to white and he growled deep in his chest; he hadn’t done it on purpose, it just slipped out.

 _‘This must be what it feels like to be Raph.’_ he thought.

Quickly he bundled little Cat back up and tucked her in the crook of his arm before snatching up his weapon and hurrying down the side of the garbage hill.

Catarina chirped and trilled, her little form burrowing into the shirt as much as she could in his arm.

“Hang on, Cat.” He whispered, glancing around before hitting the ground and slinking up into the shadows. “We’re gonna go find mama-Donnie, and Paolo, then Jii-chan, and you can bet that daddy Raph will be right on Donnie’s tail with-” His voice trembled some and his throat grew tight. “Leo…”

Michelangelo shook his head, dislodging the dark thoughts that had just tried to creep in. His mate was ok, he just _had_ to be!

Quickly slinking down behind a pipe, he found what looked like an old, rusted brown boat half-buried beneath muck and debris. He looked around, checking to be sure the coast was still clear, then slipped beneath the rotting, overturned frame and hunkered down inside.

Catarina peeped pathetically against him as he sat down and pressed up against the back of the old boat, his heart still going like a jackhammer against his ribs.

Breathing hard through his nose he looked down, finding Cat, a bit of fresh blood smeared on her tiny forehead. It hadn’t been there a moment ago so it must have come from him.

He groaned and looked down, triple checking the cuts on his arms and chest that he could see then down to the most likely culprit. _‘Damn.'_ he thought she glanced at his outstretched leg, _'It's still bleeding.’_

A thick grey bloody cloth was wrapped around his calf, a makeshift bandage made from an old sweater that he’d found after the flood, and as he looked at it, a drip of fresh red trickled down his ankle to his foot.

“Shit.” He whispered under his breath, then leaned back and thunked his head against the cold metal.

He was in trouble, he knew that much; Mikey wasn’t sure what he hit while jettisoning through the sewers, but he knew the cut on his leg was deep. He was still feeling the high of the rush of keeping up with the rapids, something Donnie called _Adrien_ , maybe?, And the need to keep Catarina safe was still preventing him from feeling just how much it really hurt, but once all that wore off, he knew it was going to be bad…

Cringing he sighed and closed his eyes, his grip around his daughter tightening. 

Why couldn’t Shredder just leave them alone?? Did he even have a heart?! They had kids for crying out loud!!!

Then again…the guy did sorta kidnap, brainwash, and train Karai to kill her real dad after he murdered her mom, then kidnapped her a second time and mutated her into a snake when she found out the truth, then kidnapped her a third time and stuck a brain worm in her head to make her a puppet…Yeah, ok, so the whole _‘having a heart’_ thing was probably a big fat _‘NO’_.

But still; that nut-job seriously needed to move-on with his life and leave them alone, maybe get a hobby or something- one that didn’t involve trying to murder people! 

Michelangelo took in a deep, shaky breath and opened his eyes.

 _‘What now?’_ He thought, looking down at the fragile hatchling in his arms. _‘What the shell do I do now?!’_

His chest seized up and his throat tightened, an overwhelming urge to cry creeping in…

_‘Home is under water. Sensei is missing. Donnie and Paolo are lost in the city, all alone, and Raph and Leo-’_

His jaw quivered and something wet began to blur the edge of his vision.

_‘They’re half asleep and walking right into an ambush- no, that was hours ago, so they were already ambushed, which means… Oh shell…’_

Hunching over his daughter he cuddled her in closer. 

_‘What if they didn’t make it? What if-?’_

Catarina let out a soft chirp and he felt her tiny nose burrow into his neck, butting him a little in her infantile way of asking for food.

“I…” He whispered, and a tear slid free, trailing down his freckled cheek and onto the little one poorly wrapped up in his arms, “I don’t have food. I…I’m sorry.”

He sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes again.

 _'Splinter is a Ninja Master,_ he reminded himself, _Donnie is the smartest guy on the planet, Raph is tougher than Crognard the Barbarian, and Leo… Leo can get through ANYTHING, that’s why he's the Leader.'_

“Stay positive.” He whispered. “Stay positive for her, because right now you’re all she’s got and being negative wont help either of us.”

He opened his eyes and carefully leaned up, rubbing his wet cheeks off on his shoulder while Cat still begged for her bottle; gently bonking her face against him.

“Just… think.” He told himself, “Come on brain, we can’t sit here forever; gotta find somewhere safe, and Cat needs food. Now would be a good time for a super awesome idea...”

He wiped his face again and took another deep breath. This one came a little shaky but he managed to keep his cool. 

_‘What would Leo do?’_

Knowing his brother, Leonardo would cross his arms and make his ‘Leader face’ while he summed up everything he knew about what was happening so far and then use that to come up with an idea for a plan of what to do next.

So, Mikey just had to do the same, right? Use what he already knew and make a plan. Simple.

Wait, what did he know?

He knew he was wet, getting cold, his leg hurt, and Cat was hungry… But that wasn’t helpful.

“Ugh, why is planning so hard?! How could you do me like this, brain???” He thunked the back of his head against the boat in protest and winced at the sound before screwing his eyes shut tight and begging his brain to come up with something useful.

_‘It would be so much easier if this was a TV show, then I could just come up with something after watching the episode recap; Something like, Last time, on Mutant Turtle Ninja Heroes-’_

“-Donnie and Paolo were at the ladder.” He murmured, “So he probably climbed his way topside and found a place to hide. Raph and Leo went to the chemical factory all the way over in midtown, but Leo would’ve figured out it was a trap, ‘cuz he does that kinda thing, and then him and Raph would’ve gone back to the lair- except the lair is flooded so they’re probably still out looking for us right now, and Sensei-”

Trailing off, Michelangelo swallowed hard, the memory of his father, Pickles, and Ice-cream Kitty being swarmed by Foot-bot’s…then the huge wall of water…and…

Who knew where his father and all their pets had ended up?

His eyes widened, remembering the staticky sound of Tigerclaw’s voice over the radio at Bebop and Rocksteady’s van.

“Woah, wait.” His head snapped up, “I DO know where Master Splinter is! Pier 36!”

A burst of joy rose up within him and he fist pumped the air as high as he dared without hitting the frame of the boat above his head. 

“Alright, way to go, brain! Like a turtle do~!” He cheered, careful to keep his voice low, “You hear that, Cat? We know where Jii-chan is! Now all we have to do is-”

 _‘Fight an army just to get to him…’_ A small voice whispered in the back of his mind, an his smile slid right off his face. 

Slowly he looked back at the bundle in his arm, so small and hurting… 

No. He couldn’t go to his father. He couldn’t help his family fight off the Foot Clan. But he couldn’t stay where he was either.

Letting out an exhausted sigh he closed his eyes again and tried to think some more. He needed someplace warm, someplace he could find food for Catarina…

 _‘April was going to drop off food in the morning.’_ He remembered, _‘But she was with Raph and Leo, maybe she’s still with them now trying to find us, unless Leo told her to go wait for them at her apartment… APRIL’S APARTMENT!’_

“Oh, DUH! Why didn’t you just think of that to start with?” 

Shell, once this was all over, he and his brain were gonna have a serious talk. 

Opening his eyes, Mikey peeked out through one of the rust eaten holes in the side of the boat; faint rays of pink were shining through, telling him that the sun had just yawned and was starting to wake up for the day. 

If Michelangelo was going to pick a plan, he needed to do it fast.

“April has diapers over there too.” He thought out loud, “It would mean going back into the city, but…”

Catarina let out a pathetic trill, her head bobbing turning into pleading nuzzles.

“I guess we don’t have a choice.” Mikey whispered, grimacing at the thought of the ever-brightening sky. “That means being out in daylight.”

Leo would NOT be happy.

Then again, maybe Leo was already at April’s apartment and waiting for him, Raph too. Shell, the more he thought about it, wouldn’t April’s place be the first spot Donnie would pick to hide out in? That made sense, right??

Mikey nodded to himself, the simple gesture making him feel more confident in his decision. “I’ve got this.” He whispered.

With a free hand he shifted onto his knees, his injured leg stinging as the stiffening muscles were forced to move again, but managed to drag himself out from under the overturned boat. It was going to be a long morning…

-

Kirby Bat- That is, um, Dr. O’Neil, had not been happy about his nineteen-year-old daughter wanting to rent her own apartment. The dude was kinda paranoid and more than a little over-protective; being kidnapped by the Kraang and mutated a couple of times can have that effect on a person. But the red-headed girl had made several good points, like it being in a super safe neighborhood and only a ten-minute walk to the fancy college she had managed to get into.

Mikey wasn’t sure how long it took to get to April’s apartment in Kip’s Bay from her dad’s place in Greenwich Village by car or subway, but it was at least a twenty-minute run by rooftop if you were a ninja. 

But apparently what really sold her dad on co-signing a one-bedroom apartment was the fact that it was a forty-minute walk from Casey’s neighborhood, if he used the sidewalks like a boring person anyway… That was also the reason why it was supposed to be totally top-secret that Casey liked to stay the night at April’s place a lot. Like, a LOT, a lot. 

Mikey wasn’t sure if April’s couch pulled out or not, but he knew that Casey knew… Or, at least that’s what the human boy claimed anyway. It was hard to tell if that info was legit or not since April had used her psychic powers to throw her boyfriend across the Lair and into the pool right after he said it while Raph laughed his shell off.

The distance to their human bestie’s place had never bothered Mikey before. But he’d also never went there straight from the dump before. He’d also never brought a fussy baby there during the day with an oozing gash on his leg while running on zero sleep.

Michelangelo had never been the best at math, but by his calculations, pathetically hobbling his way towards April’s apartment while trying to keep Cat quiet and making sure to stay out of sight, would take somewhere around a couple hours to about FOREVER…

-

Sure enough, the sun was steadily heading for the middle of the sky by the time he neared April’s apartment. His leg was throbbing and the makeshift bandage he’d used was growing redder and sticky to the touch. He hadn’t dared to take a peek underneath the wrapping to check but he was pretty sure it looked like something from a gory horror movie by now. He could already hear Donnie’s voice-

“What the SHELL were you thinking?!” 

-In his, grrr-mama-Donnie-mode; going on about how it’s not bandaged properly, it’s bleeding too much, why didn’t he clean it first, did he want it to get infected? Blah, blah, grumpy-mommy blah, I’m-going-to-yell-until-Paolo-chirps-then-hover-over-him-and-coo-like-the-mom-I-refuse-to-admit-I-am…

Inwardly Mikey groaned and closed his eyes, “Shell, I sound just like Raph…” he mumbled, “I need pizza. And sleep. And soda. And spicy gummy worms. And then more sleep.”

His complaints were interrupted by a gentle thump against his plastron as Catarina once again requested a meal.

“I bet those sound good to you too, huh?” He asked, smiling down at the little green bundle. 

Cat nudged him with her nose again and began to peep, a humanish grumble sounding between her calls for food.

“Oh man, Donnie would kill me if I gave you spicy gummy worms.” Mikey bit back a snicker, “It’s bad enough you’re hurt, covered in sewage, and I’m pretty sure you peed on me, but hey; at least you’re taking it like a champ. Raph would be so proud if he could see you right now, you’re so tough, just like him-” 

A scuffling sound flitted off the bricks of the alley and he flinched, slipping further behind the dumpster where he’d been resting.

“Wait, I thought I heard something?” A soft voice called, “It sounded like a baby.”

Catarina fussed against him and Mikey pulled her in closer, his hand coming up to protectively cover her tiny head. 

“Shhh…” He whispered, his eyes sliding from blue to white.

“Oh, come on Leah, you’re hearing things.” Another voice called, “Now hurry up before those weirdo robot things come down this way. Damn city’s going to shit…First freaks, then aliens, now this!”

Michelangelo waited, listening, when the soft tap of shoes retreating reached his ears.

“Not all freaks are bad, you know,” The one called Leah said, her voice fading as the pair began to walk away, “A turtle saved my life once!”

“Oh my God, please no, not the turtle ninja dream again.”

“It seriously happened! I swear I-”

Mikey waited until their voices all but blended with the car horns and murmur of the passing crowd at the street before he dared peer out from behind the dumpster.

People scurried by at the end of the alley, their heads bent and focused on phones, with scowling faces for some reason, while cars and taxies crawled through the street at a snail’s pace. Typical Manhattan morning traffic…

Once he was sure the coast was clear, he looked up at the fire escape to April’s building. The ladder was up, rusted in place no doubt with squeaky hinges that would draw attention. He frowned at it, knowing that getting up there without making any noise was going to hurt, and groaned.

With one last quick glance around he tucked Catarina in close, bunched his legs and sprang.

Searing pain shot up his leg, spiking through his spine and aching all the way up to his neck. He slammed against the brick and scurried up over the side of the fire escape despite the stars dancing before his eyes and quickly climbed the rusted orange ladder.

“What the fuck??” He heard someone shout, followed by a curious call of, “Is that a giant turtle?” 

_‘Shoot!’_ He thought, hurtling up the ladder. He was so busted!

A few more voices sounded before he managed to reach the rooftop, a couple frantic, others curious, and when he rolled out of view, he could’ve sworn he heard someone ask- 

“Anyway we can call the cops??” 

“Pleeeease don’t.” He moaned pitifully, and he rolled back up onto his feet, hissing from pain.

His leg nearly gave out, but he managed to keep going, stepping lightly across the roof until he was on the other side and able to jump down to the large sill of the window leading to April’s living room. 

It was locked.

April always kept her windows locked when she wasn’t home, which meant his brothers weren’t here either. 

Too bad he didn’t have time to think of a ‘Plan B’.

Refusing to give anyone else a chance to see him, he punched through the glass and un-did the latch from the inside so he could open the window enough to slip through.

He was glad their human friend had picked a place with windows big enough to fit mutant turtle shells.

Catarina chirped uneasily as he slid the window shut once more and drew the curtains, avoiding the broken shards of glass on the floor the best he could as he relocked the latch.

“Sorry, April.” He muttered, then limped over to the alarm system Donnie had installed in their friend’s apartment as a ‘just in case’.

“Metalhead, you awake buddy?” He called to the silver box on her wall.

“Come on dude, blink twice if you can hear me.”

The alarm box remained silent and still, nothing flashing to signal Metalhead had even heard him. 

“He’s still down.” Mikey whispered, “Oh shell, that’s not good.”

Catarina bonked against him again, this time practically growling in frustration before latching onto the top edge of his plastron and suckling at it, determined to get food even if it meant resorting to cannibalism.

“Ok, ok.” Mikey whispered down at her, “Geez, are you sure you’re Raph’s and not mine?” 

The hatchling grumbled when his shell provided no sustenance and promptly let out a rather humanish cry, one Mikey had never heard her make before.

He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but he would worry about that later.

“Hang on, Cat.” He cooed softly and made his way over to the kitchenette to inspect the fridge. 

To his relief he found the bottles April had planned on bringing, perfectly prepared and mixed together, just waiting for a hungry baby turtle on the second shelf.

Catarina’s clicks and chirps grew more demanding as he warmed one of them up in the microwave, her little face bonking enthusiastically against him to the point he was beginning to worry she’d bruise her itty-bitty nose. 

“Ok, hang on.” He whispered to her, giving the bottle a good shake before squirting a few drops onto his arm. “Don’t tell mama I used the microwave to warm your breakfast, ‘kay? He would flip!”

Once he was sure the formula was a safe temperature, he gently moved Cat into the crook of his arm and finally gave the little one her bottle.

She took a deep breath and latched onto the nipple, huffing at him as though she was telling him off for taking so long.

“Well ex-cuuuuse me, princess.” Mikey giggled, watching as she chugged, “I’ll make sure to be quicker next time I have to save you from bad guys.”

Snatching what looked like a half-eaten Quesadilla from the fridge he swallowing it whole to appease the gurgling sounds from his own stomach before limping his way over to April’s phone, grateful that she still had a wall plugged in phone- thing; ‘Twas an ancient yet sturdy artifact from the dark ages. But when he picked it up to try and call his family, all he heard was silence.

He hung it up and tried again, hearing the beep of each number that he dialed, but no tone in the background, and no ringing sound to signal that the call was going anywhere.

“I thought these things were supposed to always work?” He grumbled, hanging it up again. “Did she forget to charge it or something?”

Sighing he repositioned Cat and her bottle so he could lean down and be sure the land phone was plugged into the wall correctly… Or however the thing charged. 

Plug was definitely in. 

“How are you even supposed to know how many bars this thing has? There’s no screen to check the Wi-Fi…”

Just how in the heck did the ye olden humans of yore manage to survive without touch screens??

After he got around to having a talk with his brain, he would also need to talk to April about upgrading her phone to something that actually worked.

But right now, he had another super important thing to do…

Still limping quite heavily, and probably bleeding all over April’s carpet, Mikey made his way down the thankfully short hall to the bathroom where he knew the tub and shower were. 

The two of them were gross, like… Donnie would throw up, gross. They needed to get clean.

Gritting his teeth at a particularly sharp sting from the wound in his leg, he trudged into the bathroom and flicked on the light, finding himself face to face with a floor length mirror. It was only then that he realized just how messed up he really was; 

He was pale, looking like the inside of an avocado, with large black and blue bruises covering him from top to bottom. Multiple scratches and scrapes covered his shoulders, legs and head, and framed the racoon worthy circles under his eyes. 

The poorly wrapped grey sweater that he’d used to bandage his leg was stained the color of black cherry Kool-Aid on one side and smeared brown with what he really hoped was mud on the other. 

“Ugh…” He groaned, his shoulders sagging. “I look how I feel…”

Forcing a smile, he looked down at Catarina, still happily chugging away at her bottle from the dark green bundle of shirt she was wrapped in. Food truly did make everything better.

“At least you seem to be doing good.” He smirked, “Remind me to ask mama Donnie to do a DNA test. Raph might be disappointed, heh.”

Chuckling softly, he moved over to the bath and pulled back the vinyl curtain, reaching in to turn the nozzle and pull up the little doohickey that would switch from bath faucet to showerhead, releasing a spray of cold water that slowly turned warm.

While the water heated up, he sat on the fuzzy bath matt beside the tub and reached hesitantly for the bloody rag wrapped around his leg. He winced as he unwrapped it, revealing the deep, angry gash that stretched from the top of his ankle to halfway up his calf. 

“Oww…” He grunted, then turned his attention back to his daughter.

Catarina was still latched onto the nipple of her bottle, her little eyes scrunched up tight as she suckled down her meal. 

Now was his chance!

“Thaaaat’s right, don’t mind me… juuust keep working on your bottle…” Careful as he could, he unwrapped her from the shirt, her tiny green limbs curling into her plastron as the cold air hit her, then began to untie her makeshift bandage. 

The little one fussed a bit as he worked around her broken shell, but refused to let go of her bottle, her focus, to Mikey's relief, remaining on her food.

Once they were both bare, and he was sure she wasn’t bleeding anymore, he cuddled her close and gripped the side of the tub, dragging himself up on shaking legs and carefully stepped in.

His plan was to rinse off the grime and muck in the shower, then soak his leg in the water and wash the both of them up. He eyed the various soap bottles lined around the edge of April’s tub with scrutiny, _‘I wonder which flavor would sting less; Strawberry Vanilla Kiss or Tropical Island Breeze?’_

However, any thoughts he had regarding whether ‘cleansing facial foam’ was better at killing germs than ‘shea butter body wash’ soon vanished; for the moment the water spray speckled little Cat’s shell, she tensed, her brown eyes snapped open, and she began to flail wildly.

“Woah, woah, Cat, chill!” He yelped when she nearly flopped out of his arms, the bottle going flying. Mikey pulled her in and held her close but Catarina was having none of it. She trilled and chirped in alarm, a high-pitched shriek following as more water rained down on her.

“It’s- it’s ok.” He said quickly, sinking down to the tub floor.

Catarina didn’t stop, her flailing and shrieking growing more desperate and panicked despite Mikey’s attempt to soothe her.

 _‘Oh shell-’_ It was a horrifying thought, but…

“It’s the water, isn’t it?” He asked sadly, wrapping her up in his arms as tight as he dared. 

Using his carapace as a shield, Michelangelo blocked the spray and curled around his daughter, keeping her as close as he could without letting her get wet.

“I know it was scary.” He whispered, nuzzling a wet cheek into the top of her bald green head. “I know it hurt. But I’m here now, and it’s gonna be alright.”

The little one was shaking, her shrieks turning to pitiful mewls that were more human than turtle.

Without meaning to, a low-pitched coo rose from Michelangelo’s throat, a strange sound he’d never made before. It was almost like a mix of a churr and that soft mothering trill Donatello could so easily make whenever the hatchlings were upset.

To his surprise, Catarina seemed to respond to it, her cries growing quiet to listen, before she too let out a shaky coo of her own between soft and pitiful whimpers.

“This water won’t hurt you.” He whispered to her, that sound rumbling from him again. “I promise.”

Cat seemed to like whatever sound it was he was making, because she curled into him as close as she could, shivering.

“It’s warm. See?” He murmured softly, shifting just a little so the water would trickle down his neck and past Catarina’s tiny arm.

She flinched as it touched her but didn’t flail this time. After a moment he moved a little more, allowing more water to slide past and over onto his daughter’s small form. 

Cat didn’t move, stiff as a board and trembling now and then, but remained still as the water rinsed the filth from her arms, her shell, then her legs, and as much of her face as Mikey dared allow. 

She was afraid, he could tell, but she was trusting him to keep her safe, and whatever the shell kind of sound he was making seemed to be helping out a lot too. It was calming her just like Donnie’s mama sounds did. 

Maybe he had a papa sound? 

He grinned at the thought, knowing Raphael would be totally jealous and trying to make a sound just like it, when something heavy thudded from outside the bathroom door.

“Will you be quiet!” A rough voice scolded, and Michelangelo froze, his heart sinking into his stomach. 

“You be quiet.” Another equally rough voice answered, “Just shuddup and come on before they figure out we’re here. I can hear the shower runnin’.”

A low, dangerous growl rumbled from Michelangelo and what pain he felt vanished in a fear fueled Adrien rush. His eyes slid white in ‘ninja mode’ and he stood, stepping out from the tub, pulled the curtain shut again, and grabbed the closest thing to him; the shirt Bebop and Rocksteady had wrapped Catarina in, and promptly re-wrapped the infant turtle with it.

There was a wicker laundry basket full of what smelled like a mix of April and Casey’s clothes in the corner of the bathroom by the towel closet, and he didn’t hesitate when he grabbed it and ripped off its lid, placing Catarina down inside it atop what looked like a lacy bra.

He didn’t have time to be picky or even embarrassed about seeing something so personal and instead whispered, “Shhh.” down to his daughter, “Papa will be right back, but I need you to stay quiet, ok?”

Cat chirped softly and shivered, her eyes scrunching up as she grabbed at the shirt and pulled it in close.

“I’ll be right back.” He promised again, and closed the wicker lid, hoping that he hadn’t just told a lie.

Scooping up his kusarigama, Mikey was just about to go to the door and lay in wait, when he had an idea.

He swiveled around to the toilet instead and grabbed the lid right off its tank before shifting over across the small room to stand behind the door.

A moment passed, his heart hammering so loud he almost couldn’t hear the soft footfalls approaching, when the doorknob turned, and the door slowly opened.

A black-haired man stepped through the frame, Asian looking, wearing a tattered black vest and a purple bandana with a long violet colored Chinese dragon tattooed into his arm.

His gaze was fixed on the shower, his hand raising to his belt.

Using all of his strength, Michelangelo swung, smashing the porcelain lid straight into the thug’s face.

There was a sound of porcelain chipping and bone crunching as the man flew back, his body slamming into the wall, face bloody, when a short blade swung around the corner straight at Mikey.

Michelangelo jumped back, using the lid as a shield as the biggest Purple Dragon goon he’d ever seen barreled over his fallen comrade past the door frame.

The blade stabbed into the lid, and to Mikey’s dismay his shield began to crack in his hands.

He leapt back out of reach and managed to pivot, springing up onto the sink counter to gain height on his opponent and swung the white lid again.

The human turned, his shoulder getting the full force of the lid, and it finally split in two, one end falling and shattering against the floor while the other remained in Mikey’s grip.

This Purple Dragon however wasn’t as dumb as his pals, he acted quickly and lunged, his weapon aimed right for Michelangelo’s injured leg.

Again, Mikey jumped, somersaulting over the dude’s head and flung the remaining bit of porcelain, hurling it right smack into the man’s hand that was still gripping the knife.

He heard the human grunt as he landed, but unfortunately that was all he heard, for as he hit the floor, his foot touched down on a chunk of toilet lid and his good leg slipped, forcing him to land all his weight onto his injured one.

Stars popped before his eyes before his brain even registered the searing sensation shooting up his spine.

His leg buckled and he crashed to the floor, though despite the pain he had enough sense to whip out his kusarigama blade.

Nearly landing on his face, he threw one bent arm forward and caught himself with a hiss, but before he could get back up on his feet, a heavy weight slammed the wind from his lungs and drove him to the tile.

It felt like a punch, so he protected his head, kicking in the direction he sensed his foe. 

His foot connected with something hard as he blinked the stars away, fighting to clear his vision, when a solid body fell atop him and crushed him to the floor.

Mikey grunted and went to twist his hips and throw his attacker off, but a knee came down and smashed into his injured leg.

He cried out and gritted his teeth, slashing out his weapon, but the human grabbed it and then his other wrist and attempted to pin them down.

Fighting through the fresh wave of pain and stars, Mikey managed to make out the face of Purple Dragon thug, his expression twisted into a nasty scowl as he leaned into Michelangelo’s arms, trying to force them still.

Just then a soft chirp sounded and for a few seconds it was like everything happened in slow-motion.

Mikey’s eyes went wide as the man’s gaze traveled up to the wicker basket in the corner of the bathroom, then back to Mikey, an evil sneer spreading across his face, revealing several gold-capped teeth.

“No.” Mikey gasped, fear driving him to struggle even harder than before.

The human however was far stronger, something he was well aware of as he leaned all of his weight into Mikey’s wrists, then slowly, but surely, began to twist Mikey’s hand holding the kusarigama.

To Michelangelo’s horror he realized the man was slowly turning and pushing the point of the curved blade right at his neck, and though he was fighting not to let it happen, the tip was steadily making its way towards its target.

“No.” Mikey grunted again, his arms beginning to shake from the force of his struggles.

“Looks like Boss gets to try turtle soup after all.” The human hissed through his teeth, “Shame you won’t be around to watch that thing get boiled alive.”

As weak as he was, Michelangelo still snarled, still barred his teeth, still glared defiantly back. Come fallen pizza or high sewer water he’d die before he ever let that fucking happen-!

A flash of pink shot through the air and suddenly the weight against his wrists lessened.

“What the-?!” The gangster yelped, and Mikey was able to make out what looked like pink taffy as it wrapped around the man’s neck before he was ripped off of Michelangelo completely.

With a startled yell the Purple Dragon struggled hopelessly as the pink sticky rope dragged him across the tile floor, right into the gaping mouth of a very angry and dirty looking puppy-frog.

_‘Holy Chalupa…’_

The green lips snapped closed over the human’s head, a rumbling growl coming from it before the prog began to violently shake, flailing the human about like a ragdoll, its ears flat and tail wagging in a vicious display.

“G-Good… boy… Pickles.” Mikey panted, rolling onto his knees onto blood slicked tile, when another familiar face rushed into view.

It was Master Splinter, tired and dirty, covered in cuts with his robe slashed and tattered and fur missing from his face, but very much alive.

Michelangelo had always suspected that his father was secretly a superhero, now he was positive.

The mutant rat jabbed with one hand at the human, aiming like the master he was, despite Pickles still wiping the Purple Dragon around the bathroom, and silenced the human with a single well-placed stab of his fingers onto a pressure point somewhere on the back of the neck that wasn’t inside the froggy-doggy’s mouth.

Only once the dude went limp did Pickles spit the man out, still growling, eyes narrowed and tail stiff as he examined the human he’d been chewing on.

“My son!” Splinter exclaimed, rushing to his side, and shell…If there had been any juices left in him, Michelangelo would be crying tears of joy.

“Are you alright?” Splinter asked, worried eyes looking over every inch of him, nose doing that crinkle thing once his sights landed on his busted leg.

Mikey gave a half-hearted thumbs up, “I’m…I’m good.” He grunted, “Go check Cat; she got hurt… I was trying to… Get the yuck off us… But those butt faces ruined shower time.”

At the mention of his granddaughter, Master Splinter’s ears pricked. 

He scanned the room, when his ears swiveled towards the laundry basket.

“She’s in the-” Mikey began, but Splinter was already moving and pulling the lid from the basket before Mikey could sit all the way upright.

Still breathing hard and now dizzy, he watched his father pull the tiny turtle out from the basket with exceptional care.

His baby girl was still clutching the shirt he’d wrapped her in like a lifeline, quietly chirping and curling into herself.

“Anata wa anzendesu.” Splinter whispered, cradling her in his arms. “You are a brave one, aren’t you?”

Catarina squeaked and pulled the shirt in closer, burrowing into it with her eyes closed tight. 

“She is alright.” Said Splinter, his ears pricking back towards Mikey.

Michelangelo leaned his shell up against the wall, watching his father look up and focus on him, the worry back in his gaze as he looked back at the blood oozing from Mikey’s leg.

“My son, your leg-”

“Tis but a scratch!” Mikey gave his best British accent while forcing a grin, fully knowing Master Splinter didn’t really care for that cheesy movie or it’s black knight.

His father sighed but didn’t argue. That was the cool thing about Sensei; he could feel out the vibe of the room and know whatever it was you really needed.

Right now, Mikey didn’t need to be babied, not when his ACTUAL babies were still in danger.

“Here.” Master Splinter murmured, sliding closer and leaning down, “She looks like she needs her father. I will take care of those two and make sure no one else has followed. Take care of her and yourself, Pickles will guard you.”

“But-” Mikey started to protest, “Ice-cream kitty and- Where’s Donnie and Paolo? Didn’t they find you??”

His heart began to pound as worry turned to panic. But as he went to stand, his father’s hand appeared on his shoulder and stopped him by gently placing Catarina in his arms in exchange for the kusarigama.

“Ice-cream Kitty is fine.” His father promised, but as he spoke his round ears flattened. “She was melting, so I put her in April’s freezer. However, I have not seen any of your brothers or Paolo.”

“Then… Shouldn’t we go look for them?” Mikey asked, his voice coming out as more of a whine than he had meant to, but his father just shook his head. 

“No.” Splinter sighed, looking genuinely upset, “However, Donatello is as resourceful as he is fiercely protective. Neither him nor Paolo will be found unless he wishes it. I believe he will find us when he feels it is safe to do so. Leonardo and Raphael are the same; they are both determined and they will protect one another.” 

The old rat looked exhausted as he forced himself to his feet, “Right now, Catarina is our top priority. Here she has food and can stay warm and comfortable. This is also April’s home. Sooner or later she, or your brothers will come here, and we will be found.”

Those were the reasons why Michelangelo had come to April’s to begin with, and hearing his father saying the same thing made him feel a little better; if someone as wise as Master Splinter had the same idea, then maybe Mikey wasn’t so bad at planning after all.

He would have to thank his brain again later.

“You are in no shape to risk another confrontation, let alone search the city.” Master Splinter continued. “Now, clean up yourself and Catarina. Pickles will stay with you. If you hear me shout, go out the window and wait for me to lure the enemy away, then return.”

Mikey swallowed hard but nodded obediently as his father turn towards the door.

“Sensei, wait. I…I know you said I shouldn’t be out there right now but…B-But Hun, he- he wants to eat them. If they find Paolo-”

“They will not.” Said Splinter quickly. “I am aware of Hun’s…desire. But let me assure you, if you and your brothers could not get close to your children as eggs while Donatello was under the influence of Stockman’s drug, then no poorly trained street thug will be able to lay their hands on your son now that your brother has all his wits about him.”

The old rat paused at the unconscious body of the human Pickles was still growling at, the clawed hands at his sides curling into tight fists as he glared at the fallen enemy.

“And no one, not even the Shredder, will be able to touch you or my granddaughter while I have breath left in me.”

Mikey could tell Splinter was bothered, but he seemed more angry than upset as he leaned down and grabbed the human by his foot.

“Good boy.” Master Splinter praised, giving the prog a gentle pat on the head, before he began to drag the man from the bathroom.

“Stay with Michelangelo.” 

The prog wagged its fluffy tail and twitched its floppy golden ears before swiveling its head in Mikey’s direction.

“Yeah, what he said.” Mikey grunted, and the prog’s tail wagged faster, “Good boy, Pickles. See? I knew leaving you mutated was a good idea!”

Pickles’ wide mouth opened and his long, sticky tongue hung down as he bounced happily from one foot to the next at Mikey’s praise.

Wishing he had that kind of energy, Michelangelo gripped Catarina tight and slowly forced himself to stand.

Every bit of him ached, his leg coated in a fresh layer of blood, and it was everything he could do just to limp over to the shower again.

Pickles, his loyal frog-dog, hopped over to him when he reached the tub and seemed to sense he needed a hand for he stayed still and leaned into Mikey, giving him something to lean against as he crawled in again.

Settling into the tub had been the easy part, getting Catarina to relinquish her hold on the shirt for a second time was what had been difficult. 

She’d squeaked and squirmed, then screeched once he managed to pry it free, only to grow still and tense up as the water hit her again. 

At least he had his papa sounds now; that seemed to flip some sort of switch in Cat’s brain, like some sort of special baby-code for ‘everything’s gonna be cool, papa’s got you.’

It was rough, but after a little bit Catarina began to calm down and allowed him to properly clean her and her wounds. 

Mikey had no idea what ‘shea butter’ was, but he was happy to find that the body wash did not sting against open leg wounds or baby turtle owies.

Pickles never left the side of the tub. His ears lifted high and eyes fixed on the door. He stiffened when Master Splinter came back to fetch the other knocked out Purple Dragon- the one with his teeth smashed in, only to relax once the human was dragged from view.

“Good boy, Pickles.” Mikey murmured, weakly patting the frog-dog’s head.

His loyal pet stayed guard even once they were both cleaned up and out of the tub.

Normally he would’ve been super happy and proud of his puppy-frog, wanting to shower him with hugs and attention for being the best boy ever, but at that moment as he dried his daughter and then himself with one of April’s super fluffy yellow with polka-dot towels, he was too exhausted to care…or think…or anything…

The Adrien’s rush had finally abandoned him, and shell was he feeling it.

Catarina got her bottle back, and after some fussing, he returned the camo shirt to her despite knowing Donatello would be burning it the second he got the chance.

He then wrapped his leg with another borrowed towel, a white one with tiny ribbon bows on it and pictures of sunflowers with a lace trim on the two shortest sides; Donnie had once said that extra decoration meant it was a ‘guest towel’ for ‘special occasions’. Mikey figured that an emergency probably counted as special, and if he was going to tear up one of April’s towels for a bandage, she would prefer him to use the one she had set out for guests.

It was a good thing he was so good at remembering stuff.

Clean, patched up more or less, and hatchling in his arm, Michelangelo slowly wandered through the apartment to April’s bedroom.

Thankfully the curtains there were always closed in case he or his brothers had to stop by. Plus, it was probably hard to explain to nosey neighbors why things were floating in her home… Ghosts? Would humans buy that the place was haunted?

Probably. This was New York; a lot of places were haunted…

Choosing a spot in the very corner of the bedroom where a beaten-up looking beanbag chair had been stuffed, Michelangelo plopped down and made sure to face both the windows and the door so if anyone tried to break in, they couldn’t sneak up on him.

That was like, Ninja rule number 12 or something.

Pickles found April’s bed and leapt on top to perch on the edge, tongue panting, and ears on high alert, swiveling to catch any noise. 

His father appeared shortly after, looking even more tired than before, his knuckles raw and kimono still torn but readjusted to lay more neatly on his shoulders. 

Instead of sitting down for a much-needed rest, he took the time to inspect Michelangelo’s wounds, then Catarina’s. When he was satisfied that they were ok for now, he found a blanket and brought it to the tired turtles, making sure they were both wrapped up nice and warm before he knelt beside them and began to meditate.

Mikey tried to stay awake, honest he did- and with the aching throb in his leg constantly reminding him that he nearly got sashimi-ed, you’d think that wouldn’t be hard to do… But with the added warmth and feeling of protection from his father and Pickles, he began to drift, his eyes closing then forcing back open only to inevitably close again.

“Go to sleep.” He heard his father whisper.

He tried to shake the sleep off one last time, even tightened his grip around Catarina to remind himself that she was still bundled up against his plastron, but even that failed.

“You will not drop her.” Splinter murmured, “I will keep watch. Do not worry, my son…”

Michelangelo’s head lolled to one side against the beanbag, and that was it…

-

He wasn’t sure how long he was out for, but the words- “Someone is here.” Woke him faster than a dose of cold water.

He snapped upright, clutching Catarina, still asleep against his plastron.

The room was pitch black like it was night, and shell, maybe it was, but he could still see his father, eyes glowing in the dark by the door.

“If I yell…” He heard Sensei warn, “Take Pickles and Catarina and run.”

Mikey gulped, but nodded, watching as Master Splinter disappeared into the shadows, and heard Pickles begin to growl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: Shea Butter is not only soothing for sunburns and itchy rashes, but it is safe and gentle on all skin types, as well as anti-fungal and anti-bacterial, and can promote faster healing. Mikey still has some luck!  
> Also be safe, don't heat up baby bottles in the microwave!

**Author's Note:**

> Ikara: Education time!  
>  For tortoises, a male's plastron is concaved to fit over the female's shell when mating.
> 
> This is not true for aquatic turtles who need more streamline shells. In most species of freshwater turtle, the male has a long tail that is thick at the base and tapers off to a point, with the cloaca (looks like a slit) near the center.   
> The female, which more often than not is larger than the male, has a short and stubby tail with the cloaca closer to the body.
> 
> However, these traits do not develop until the turtle has grown to at least half of their expected adult size (for red-eared sliders, this is 4-5 inches, measuring the length of the plastron, aka the bottom of the shell where the turtle's "chest" would be.) Because of this, it is not possible to   
> visually determine the sex of non-mutant baby turtles. 
> 
> Also, studies have shown that baby turtles DO make chirping and chittering sounds, though these are at a frequency too low for humans to hear, and these sounds are for communicating with their clutch-mates not their parents.
> 
> We are taking some liberties due   
> to mutation, but we try to include actual turtle facts where we can!


End file.
